


Hypocrisy, Thy Name is Doctor

by illogicalBones



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 114,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illogicalBones/pseuds/illogicalBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A list of things Leonard McCoy is most definitely not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not CMO

Bones hated space.

Jim knew that. Hell, everyone knew that. It was essentially how Bones started conversations. “Yes, hello. I’m Dr. Leonard H. McCoy. We’re all going to die in space so everything is meaningless, life is an illusion. Pleased to meet you.” Jim couldn’t really complain, though; 30 seconds of hearing Bones’ terrifying death rant when they’d first met on the recruitment shuttle was all Jim needed to decide that he liked him. He had crazy opium eyes, an aggressive set to his shoulders that looked like it might very well be his default, and he had thrown up on Jim’s shoes.

Twice.

Yet somehow, in all that, Jim had still managed to look at Bones and say _yeah, I think I’ll keep this one._ And Bones, in turn, had looked at Jim and apparently seen something that made him stay. One day, Jim would ask him about it. Not today, though. Today, he had something more important to ask. Capital I Important. And, if everything went alright, he’d have many a day to ask Bones all the questions he wanted.

He walked up the steps to their apartment. Or stumbled, depending on how you defined the term. He was tired. Every day the last week had been the longest day of his life. So much so that he wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore.  Meetings blended together, every person essentially drawing out the same exact three-minute speech into hour-long proceedings. He was trying not to feel too insulted by it. It’s just, maybe that was something Pike should have mentioned to Jim when giving his “I’m your new dad, join Starfleet” speech at the bar; “Oh yeah, by the way. If you save the world, you’re going to have to sit through a shit ton of meetings getting yelled at for being a hero. And you have to pretend to be sorry.”

Nero was dead. His crew was gone. Spock 2.0 was safe (or was their Spock the 2.0 version? Matter of fact, when did he start referring to Spock as _their Spock_? What the fuck was even going on anymore). Pike was going to be fine. _The Enterprise_ and her crew were safe. Bones was safe. The entire world was safe. All thanks to Jim.

Not that he was going to let that go to his head or anything. He pushed open the door.

“Bones, the conquering hero returns,” he shouted, kicking off his shoes. “I’ll pretend to be surprised that you got me a gift. Especially if its alcohol. Oh, as a matter of fact, let’s bust open the bourbon you’ve had stashed away. I think I deserve it for saving the _entire fucking world_.”

Jim wasn’t sure if he was supposed to know about Bones’ secret alcohol stash, but they were a little beyond keeping secrets and boundaries now. You can’t stand next to someone watching a plant implode and come home thinking little things like that mattered.

He put his hands on his hips. Their apartment was empty. And filthy. Both of those were unusual. Bones hated anyone that wasn’t Jim and tended not to leave too often, nor did he ever willingly leave the apartment looking like this. Bones cleaned with religious fervor. He turned the kitchen light on.

“Bones?”

A pause. Then, from above Jim’s head, a voice echoed down.

“Jim?”

Jim frowned up at the ceiling.

“God?”

“It’s me, idiot,” the voice growled back. Jim looked around again, eyes narrowing in caution.

“Where?”

“I’m on the roof.”

“The roof? That seems so counterintuitive to your lifestyle.”

He could hear the growl between the plaster.

“Get your ass up here before I finish this bourbon without you.”

Coming from a recovering alcoholic who loved any opportunity to be petty, that threat held merit. Jim scrambled to the open window in the living room, pushing himself through and up until he could grab on to the roof ledge. He looked up. Bones was patiently watching him on the other side, wedged on the slant of the roof.

“You could help me, you know,” Jim said.

“I’m alright,” Bones said back, raising his glass.

Jim struggled as he pulled himself up before very cautiously crawling over to sit next to Bones. He peeked over to look at the ground below.

“Seriously, though. I feel like I should be alarmed. This seems like the sort of needless danger you’re always warning me against.”

Bones shrugged, passing Jim the bottle. Jim took a drink.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“I’m tired,” Bones sighed.

Sometimes Bones did that. He’d sigh and say something utterly unfitting for someone who wasn’t even 30 yet.

He raised an eyebrow at Jim. “How was the meeting?”

Jim snorted. “Which one? I’ve had a least five today. Possibly six, but I don’t really remember. After you’re forced to repeat ‘I’m sorry I stowed away illegally and saved everyone’s life. I didn’t mean to’ over and over again, it all starts to blur together.” He took another drink. “How was yours?”

“About the same. Except it was more ‘I’m sorry I enabled Jim to save the world, I’ll never do it again because his ego doesn’t need it and he’ll probably be insufferable for the next 6 months.’”

“Aw, thanks.”

Bones nodded absently. He was staring out past the trees, towards the few visible stars that were out. And Jim was staring at him.

“You didn’t get in trouble, did you?” Bones asked suddenly.

Jim smiled. “No. I got a commendation.”

“Yeah. Same,” Bones said slowly. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He leaned back on the roof until he could look up. “It’s weird.”

“What is?”

Bones gestured above them. “All of it.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, needing no elaboration. It was weird. They were weird. And so on.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Jim’s plan had been to come home, surprise Bones with his question, catching him off guard enough that maybe he’d say yes. But Bones, being Bones, never really seemed to let things go according to plan. He’d caught Jim off guard by being A) on the roof and B) cryptically sentimental while on said roof. Now, Jim felt unsure. Which, okay, was actually kind of fun because it was a new feeling. Jim didn’t do unsure. Jim was a _for sure_ kind of guy. All or nothing. Boldly going and all that shit. Bones was unsure, that was his thing. He was a hot damn mess of unsure, wrapped in sarcasm and terrible people skills. They sort of completed each other, in a fucked up way.

And Jim loved it, in a fucked up way. When he put it like that, the question seemed to inevitable. Bones had to know this was coming. That didn’t mean he’d say yes, though. And Bones saying no…wasn’t really an option. Jim never really planned for any sort of no. He planned for a “hell no”, which was usually Bones’ way of saying “I guess”. He planned for a fight, an argument, and weird week of the silent treatment. But he didn’t plan for no.

Jim snatched the bottle.

“You’re a good doctor, Bones,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle Bones out of…whatever was going on. Jim shook his head. _Bones startled easily_. He couldn’t ask him to do this. Bones took a second before turning to look at Jim.

“And you were an alright captain. I guess.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jim laughed. “I can always rely on you to keep me humble, Bones.”

Bones tipped his head. “I do what I can.”

“But, seriously though,” Jim back tracked. He’d already started and he might as well keep going. “You’re really, really good at what you do. You saved 76 lives on _The Enterprise_. In two days. You don’t deserve a commendation. You deserve…I don’t know. 8 of them.”

Bones smirked.

“8?”

“Give or take,” Jim nodded.

“Thanks, Jim,” he said, oblivious.

“I’m not done,” Jim rushed to say. He didn’t need Bones to do that thing he did where he hastily changed the subject whenever he was being complimented. It was very cute and very, very annoying. Bones in a nutshell, really. And Jim was not standing for it this time. Not now. “Let me say what I need to say and then you can do your humble southern doctor shtick where you say ‘oh Jim I ain’t no nothin’ special, I’m just a country doctor from a farm with cows.’”

Bones very nearly managed to hide his smile. “Two things first. One, that was a terrible impression of me, please never do that again. And two, I grew up in the city. In an apartment building. With electricity and everything and I’ve never even milked a cow, so your continued use of country analogies and metaphors are really—”

“You get the idea,” Jim snapped. “Now shut up for five goddamn minutes, would you? _This is important_.”

Bones held up his hands in surrender, keeping his mouth firmly shut. He looked…bemused and younger than Jim had ever seen him.

“You did good up there, Bones,” he started. Then paused. Then tried to start again and failed. Then cleared his throat. “We did good up there. We saved the fucking world. Not that many people get to say that, you know. It’s special.”

Bones opened his mouth.

“No, it is,” Jim snapped. “It is. We saved the world. And that’s not something I ever thought I’d get to say.”

Jim had done…a lot of stupid shit in his life and for once, he’d done something right. He hadn’t fucked everything up. And really, he owed that to Bones. Bones, who somehow seemed to be as possessive of Jim as Jim was of him. Bones, who he annoyed constantly. Bones, whose mission in life it was to ruin Jim’s fun. Bones, who kept him in line and prevented him to falling back on old habits. Bones, his best friend. So despite who Jim was before they’d met, or maybe because of it, he wasn’t going to be stupid and let Bones go.

 “And the only reason I’m sitting here, saying this, is because of you,” Jim said.

Bones smiled and shook his head in a way that usually meant _you’re an idiot, Jim_.

“And if you want to get technical,” Jim said, grinning. “The only reason you’re sitting is because of me. So I guess we’re pretty even on that front, huh?”

Bones snatched the bottle of bourbon back roughly. “I liked when we were talking about how great I am. Let’s go back to that.”

“Okay, fine,” Jim agreed. “So you’re really great. The best doctor the academy has ever seen and you know it, so I don’t have to ever worry about your confidence. You’re also the strongest person I’ve ever met. Not literally, because your lactose intolerance prevents you from ever being too much of a physical threat.”

Bones scowled.

“ _But_ ,” Jim continued sharply. “You’re strong in the sense that I’ve never met someone who held onto their beliefs as strongly as you do. You want to believe the world is full of compassion and humanity so you see it in everything. You make everything better, just by believing in it. You make me better.”

Bones scowl was still there, but it was more wary than hostile. Jim took that as a positive sign as any. He took a drink of the bourbon, before passing it back with a sigh.

“They gave me the _Enterprise_ ,” he said quietly, looking out past the trees. “As soon as she’s repaired. I’m going to be the youngest captain in history.”

He turned to look at Bones.

“And I need you with me. I need a CMO and you’re the only person I would ever trust. Besides that, I need you. Just you. Just Bones. What’s the point of traveling the galaxy if I can’t take you with me? And I’ve always known it, really. You always talked about going to work on some starbase somewhere after graduation and I went along with it but somehow I knew. I knew from the moment you yelled at me about death and destruction and threw up on my shoes. I knew I was going to make a career out of dragging you into space.”

Bones us looking at him in that way of his. Very serious, very contemplative, and yet somehow very soothing. It made Jim uncomfortable, almost as much as it comforted him. It was scary and relaxing, all in one go. Jim’s kind of language. Jim’s looked back him, unsure what to do. He’d done it. He’d laid all his cards out. Now he just needed to know what was next. If Bones didn’t come with him, he wasn’t going. He couldn’t. What was the point without Bones? No matter what happened, he knew, he was always going to be with Bones. That calmed him.

And then Bones started to laugh, because he was an asshole like that. He laughed, that rolling laugh he did sometimes when it was just the two of them. It was very undignified and very, very inappropriate to Jim’s goddamn beautiful speech, to be honest.

“This is serious, Bones!”

“ _I can’t help it!”_

Jim folded his arms. “I worked really hard on that! You’re ruining it.”

Bones sobered up for half a minute before looking at Jim and busting out laughing again.

“BONES STOP.”

“I’m sorry,” Bones laughed. “I’m really touched, honest, Jim. This is just…I…it’s just so funny to me.”

“Why?”

“ _Because of course I’m going_.”

Jim looked up. “Wait what?”

Bones wiped his eyes, still unable to truly calm down his laughter. If it were any other man, Jim would describe it as giggling but Leonard H. McCoy did not giggle.

“Because I’m a damn good doctor,” Bones laughed. “You said it yourself. I saved 76 lives this week. I was in space, in a fire fight, undertrained and understaffed, and I managed to accomplish more than I ever could on a starbase. It’s not even a question for me.”

Jim leaned forward. “Are you shitting me?”

“No shit to be had,” Bones said seriously, though his mouth still twitched into a smirk. “You really think I’d trust anyone else up there with you? Please. You’re stuck with me until one of us fucks up and dies.”

Jim did the only thing that seemed appropriate and punched Bones square in the chest.

“You’re an asshole,” he said as Bones fell back. “I’ve been worked up about this for hours. This is so like you to have it all figured out without even bothering to tell me!”

Bones shrugged, rubbing his chest. “There are stipulations.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “One, you aren’t allowed to tell the stripper story.”

“Fuck you, yes I am.”

“Fine, but you definitely aren’t allowed to whine your way out of away missions.”

“That won’t be a problem, as I will never be going on an away mission.”

“Bones! Respect my authority.”

“ _You don’t have any authority on this roof_. _It’s my name on the lease_.”

“ _Bones_.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll go on away missions!” Bones paused. Jim waited. And waited. Until… “Occasionally.”

“Fine,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “What’s your stipulations?”

“I get to pick my own staff.”

“Done.”

“You can’t call me Bones around the crew,” Bones said. “It’s unprofessional.”

“Nah, fuck that.”

“Jim, it’s my name! My god given name.”

“It’s ridiculous and I cannot take it seriously.”

Bones ripped the bottle out of Jim’s hand roughly. “I will never call you ‘sir.’”

“It would be weird if you did.”

“I’m going to argue with you,” he took a sloppy drink. “Big, yelling arguments about philosophical issues and I’m going to want to hit you.”

“Again, you don’t drink milk. I’m not afraid.”

“I’m going to make fun of you constantly.”

“ _I’m going to make fun of you constantly_.”

Bones drained the rest of the bottle.

“Alright,” he said quietly, setting it beside them. “I’m in.”

And Jim smiled.

 


	2. Not a Pirate

Pirates were a thing still, apparently.

Go figure.

McCoy pulled the dead man out of the seat, trying very, very, very, very hard not to feel guilty. The guys’ hands were still gripping the wheel.

“Ah, hell,” he groaned, prying the fingers off as respectfully as he could. Finally free, he gently lowered the body outside the ship’s open door and closed it shut quietly.

“Really?”

He turned back to Jim, who was leaning casually in the passenger seat, trying to look like he wasn’t bleeding out. McCoy stomped back to the wheel.

“What?” he snapped.

“You know that guy murdered people, right? He literally punched you in the face less than 2 minutes ago and you’re still treating him like he’s your prom date.”

McCoy scowled, flipping through the switches on the access panel.

“I didn’t kill my prom date, Jim,” he said off-handedly, just as he found the power button and flipped the ship on.

“If it makes you feel any— _fuck_ —better, I don’t think you killed that guy either,” Jim spit out, gritting his teeth as he tried to move closer to the controls. “I think he actually died from secondhand embarrassment after you tripped up the stairs on _your way_ to kill him.”

McCoy ignored the comment. Jim was just trying to make him feel better. Or he was trying to distract himself from the hole in his side.

“You’re leaking,” he said instead, nodding to the green liquid running down from the wound.

“Yeah, I think the space pirates did something space pirate-y,” Jim replied unhelpfully, poking lightly against his skin.

McCoy rolled his eyes.

Because yes, of course they couldn’t just run into your average, everyday brand of pirates. They had to be the newest model of pirates. _Space pirates_ , Jim had told him excitedly. _We get to meet a real life space pirate, Bones. How cool is that?_

The problem was that it wasn’t just one “real life space pirate” on the planet, it was thirty. And they didn’t just get to “meet” them, they got to be “captured” and “shot at” by them. Now they were “escaping” and “stealing a shuttle” from them while Jim was “dying” in the passenger seat.

Which made McCoy very “angry.”

“Bones, you’re bleeding,” Jim said in suddenly, trying to lift an arm but failing. McCoy rubbed a hand across the cut on his forehead. It dragged across the corner lid of his eye, making it difficult to see and even more difficult to, you know, fly a shuttle.

“So are you,” he snapped, taking a deep breath as he lifted the shuttle off the sandy surface of the planet. They still had two more captives to get out, assuming they weren’t already dead.

“Do you think Sulu and Spock are dead already?”

It was creepy when Jim did that.

“I don’t know, Jim,” he answered, trying to stop his hands shaking against the wheel. “Do you remember where they were last?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Jim drawled. His head was rolling against the headrest, his eyes glassy as he looked out the shuttle window. “I saw them before I got shot I think. They were definitely on the planet with us at some point.”

“That’s incredibly helpful, thank you,” McCoy growled. He hadn’t meant to sound as angry as he did, so he sighed. “Just focus on staying awake, Jim. I’ll find ‘em.”

Jim blinked over at him, looking truly miserable for the first time all day, even after the mission went south. Even as he’d been tossed into the cell after Spock, bleeding from whatever they’d shot him with, he’d still had had the stupid smile on his face and McCoy had wanted to punch him.

“Bones, I don’t think I like space pirates.”

“That’s kind of what they are going for, Jim,” he laughed, scanning quickly across the empty fields of the planet. His hand slipped against on the foreign controls, causing the shuttle to dip for a second.

“Wait, did you steal this shuttle?”

Jim seemed surprised, like it _hadn’t_ been his idea in the first place to steal the shuttle.

“Yes, Jim, I stole this shuttle. They kind of blew ours up when we got here, remember?”

“Oh. Neat.”

“Yeah, neat,” McCoy echoed, shaking his head. Jim clearly wasn’t doing so hot.

There was a long pause then, long enough the McCoy pulled his eyes away from the window in order to make sure Jim was still awake. Instead, he saw Jim frowning at the floor.

“You stole a ship,” he repeated. “You killed a guy. You’re bleeding ruggedly.”

“I am not _bleeding ruggedly_. What does that even mean?”

Jim’s frown dissolved, replaced by a grin. “It means you’re a pirate,” he said. “You are totally a space pirate now!”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you are! Look at you! Growling as you sail the seven seas, in search for your stolen bounty.”

“Are you implying that Spock and Sulu are my treasure?”

“You even have a cool pirate name!” Jim said, apparently not hearing the question. Or ignoring it for the sake of his point.

“Ah, yes. The Dread Pirate Leonard,” McCoy muttered darkly.

“If that cut on your face scars, you could get an eye patch.”

“I am not a pirate, Jim.” He paused, catching a brief glance of gold and blue darting behind a boulder in front of them.

“But I am going to be a hero,” he smiled, dropping the shuttle down.

“No, gross. Being a pirate is way cooler than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr for more updates! URL is illogicalbones


	3. Not a Child

Everything was going pretty okay until Jim realized Spock’s zipper was down.

Hmmm.

He sat up straighter in his chair, unsure of what to do with this information.

His gut instinct told him to immediately inform the entire conference room. That would be _exactly_ what this meeting needed to spice it up. Spock had been talking for close to two hours now and Jim had reached a new level of boredom that bordered on physically painful—Spock had… a unique way with words that, having gone interrupted for this long, left Jim feeling itchy and nauseous.

Scotty was passed out in the back, snoring unsubtly. Poor guy hadn’t even made it 20 minutes into the meeting. Sulu was looking at the wall behind Spock’s head with such stoic, feigned interest, Jim was led to believe he was probably daydreaming about his plants. Uhura, traitorous, turncoat, silver-tongued she-devil that she was, had managed to somehow get out of attending what had been advertised as a mandatory meeting. She had been adamant that the Bridge needed at least one senior communication’s officer on duty at all times. Sure, sure. Chekov, the little Ensign that could, could be Captain for a whole afternoon despite the fact that his feet didn’t even touch the ground when he sat in the chair, but God forbid someone calling the ship be forced to _leave a message._

Jim looked back up at Spock, who was now talking about necessity of the hydroponics lab being kept at a consistent temperature, and tapped his hands against the table. Hmmm. No one else seemed to have noticed what a predicament they were in.

He turned to the chair beside him.

Bones was doing that thing that he does where he just kind of shakes his head. He’d been doing it for the entirety of the meeting; it had started out subtle, a barely perceptible tilt side-to-side as Spock waxed on about clerical form 236X12P. It was entirely likely that Bones didn’t even know he was doing it. By now, it was much more pronounced, like he was violently disagreeing with whatever he was hearing.

Jim hadn’t called it out on him yet, despite the fact that it was a little bit disconcerting. Especially when he would mutter disjointed curses under his breath periodically, just loud enough for Jim to hear.

“I’m a doctor, dammit,” he said at that moment, as if it was relevant. He glared sharply when he realized that Jim was staring.

“ _What?_ ” he hissed.

Jim lowered his voice.

“Look at Spock’s crotch.”

For a half a second, Jim was worried Bones was going to hit him. Instead, being the pro that he was, he just sighed. He shifted his glare past Jim’s shoulder, towards the front of the room. Jim watched him intently as he focused in on ground zero. The elephant in the room. The zipper non grata.

He stopped shaking his head. Then he smiled, wide and honest, as he turned back to Jim.

“Listen, Jim—Jimmy. I don’t ask for much,” he whispered. “But I’m begging ya. Please let me be the one to tell him. You don’t have to get me a birthday gift. Or a Christmas gift. This is gift enough for the whole year.”

“No way!” Jim hissed. “I saw it first! I get to tell him.”

“You tell him, and everyone is going to know you were staring at his dick!”

“ _You_ tell him, and everyone is going to know _you_ were staring at his dick.”

“Damn it all,” Bones sighed. “You’re right.”

Jim tapped against the table. Distantly, he was aware that Spock was now flipping through a slide show on the do’s and don’ts of haircuts and Jim wondered at the ridiculousness of his life; who cares about regulation side parts and bangs when the entirety of the ship’s senior officers could see what color underwear you were wearing?

(White, by the way).

“What we need is Uhura,” he whispered. “She could tell him. I think Vulcan lovers have a mind meld going at all times for this sort of thing.”

“That literally is not how any of that works,” Bones interrupted. “But you are on to something. You should go get her and bring her here to fix this.”

“Yes, of course,” Jim rolled his eyes. “I’ll just raise my hand and excuse myself by saying ‘oh sorry, I’m just going to pop out real quick and go get your girlfriend so she can do us a solid and look at your dick.’ Great idea, Bones. _Just aces_.”

“It was just a thought,” Bones replied, crossing his arms.

“What if we pass her a note?”

“I don’t even think there is one piece of actual paper aboard this ship.”

“No, not, liiiiiiiiittttterally,” Jim dragged out the word in annoyance. “We could message her from your PADD.”

Bones’ eyes dropped to the table, where the PADD sat ignored.

“Good idea,” he said. He carefully reached out and pulled it towards him, trying to avoid suspicion. The screen flickered on.

A few (covert) minutes later, they had worked out a simple, straightforward message to send to the Lieutenant.

 

**15:54. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.**

_Uhura, we have a situation in the conference room. Spock’s zipper is down and Jim and I are unsure of what to do._

 

As Bones hit send, Jim gave him a reassuring smile. They could get through this.

 

**15:55. Message from Lt. N. Uhura to Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy.**

_Is this a joke?_

 

**15:55. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.**

_Not a joke. Please respond. Situation urgent._

 

**15:56. Message from Lt. N. Uhura to Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy.**

_I’m not the Captain!_

 

**15:56. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.**

_But you kind of are, though, you know? You’re the Captain of Spock’s pants and that’s what matters right now._

 

**15:56. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.**

_That was Jim, I swear._

 

**15:57. Message from Lt. N. Uhura to Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy.**

_What do you want me to do about it?_

 

**15:57. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.**

_Come down here. Tell him the Bridge is on fire. Problem solved._

 

 

Uhura didn’t respond after that.

Jim felt that was a little harsh. He thought their suggestion had at least some merit. It was better than anyway Bones would try to tell him, the most tactful of which would probably be nothing more than a flailing, wordless gesture towards Spock’s crotch.

Bones’ PADD was still in Jim’s hands, causing him to jump when it lit up again.

 

**16:01. Message from Lt. H. Sulu to Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy.**

 

_So...Mr. Spock’s Zipper…_

 

Jim and Bones both looked up in tandem, across the table at Sulu. The lieutenant shrugged.

“Awesome,” Jim said quietly.

“Awesome,” Bones echoed.“You find this awesome. I hate you.”

Jim couldn’t help it. He clapped a hand over his mouth to try and stifle the laughter he could feel bubbling, resulting in a high-pitched snorting noise that echoed around the room.

“Captain? Is everything alright?”

_Oh, Spock , you glorious bastard, you have no idea._

Jim sat up quickly, dropping his hands.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh,” he said dumbly, looking up at his first officer. The whole room turned to him, excluding Scotty who was still passed out and Bones who was now hiding his face in his hands. “Yeah. Yep. _Yes._ Everything is fine, Mr. Spock. Please continue.”

Spock raised an eyebrow (wow, shocker) but didn’t comment further. He went back to his lecture.

“What are we going to do?” Bones hissed. “I can’t live like this, Jim.”

“I don’t know!” Jim snapped back. “I’m all out of ideas.”

“Wake up Scotty, have him fix this.”

“That’s the worst idea I have ever heard.”

Bones nodded glumly, not even bothering to try and deny it.

And then, like an angel in the morning light, Uhura walked through the conference room doors. Immediately, all eyes turned to her.

Jim grinned while Bones gave a pitiful wave.

She barely cast them a glance before striding to the front of the room, her ponytail swishing.

“Lieutenant Uhura,” Spock said crisply.

“Commander,” she returned. She glanced back at Jim and Bones for half a second before leaning in and whispering in Spock’s ear. Spock, with his ironclad poker face, did nothing but stiffen his shoulders almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Uhura stepped back, locking her hands behind her back as he headed for the door.

Jim and Bones both gave her a discreet thumbs-up as she passed them, despite the fact that she didn’t even spare them a glance.

Back at the front of the room, Spock cleared his throat.

“This meeting is dismissed,” Spock said calmly. “Thank you for your time, officers.”

On the other side of Jim, Scotty jerked awake with a snort just as Spock passed him on his way to the door.

Around them, the others were up and moving, apparently finding nothing odd about their abrupt dismissal. Though Sulu did shake his head at them as he passed.

Jim turned back to Bones, shrugging. Things could have been worse.

“Did you guys see that?”

They both turned to Scotty, who was looking at them with a sleep-drunk frown.

“I think Spock’s zipper might have been down.”


	4. Not Making House Calls

“Bridge to Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy groaned preemptively.

He looked up from the crewmen’s fingers he was wrapping, nodding to Christine who pushed the comm button on the wall.

“McCoy here,” he called.

“Doctor. Your presence is requested on the Bridge.”

That was Spock. He sounded bored. He always sounded bored and _just so fucking done_ with everything whenever he got on the ship’s systems. Hell, he could probably narrate erotica for a living and it would still sound as depressing as a list of war casualties.

McCoy frowned, angry at himself for honestly letting that thought come to mind.

“I’m a little busy.”

“No, he’s not.”

He dropped the ensign’s hand, turning to Christine with a glare. She looked smug.

_Mutiny._

 “Doctor, it is the Captain,” Spock continued in a low voice. For some reason, McCoy had never really thought it was possible to put so much bored inflection in an urgent whisper. But here they were. “He…”

Spock paused, lowering his voice even more.

“He is asleep.”

//

“I thought you were kidding,” McCoy whispered.

“I assure you, Doctor. I have never done such a thing a day in my life.”

McCoy poked a snoring Jim in the chest suspiciously. He was completely out, his head and arm slipping slowly off the side of his chair. McCoy poked him again before standing up, frowning as Uhura and Spock both looked at him expectantly.

“Why did you need me? I’m not his mother!”

If they had honestly dragged him up here so that he had to be the one to wake Jim’s ass back up, they were going to regret it sorely. McCoy was a firm believer in letting sleeping dogs lie, especially when that dog was Jim and was known to throw punches if spooked.

“We were under the impression something might be wrong,” Spock said simply, slipping his hands behind his back. “This is uncommon behavior for the Captain.”

McCoy snorted. For the Captain, yes. For Jim, no. He could sleep anywhere, anytime. It was impressive, if McCoy was to be honest. He’d seen Jim fall asleep in a ship’s dismantled rotary coupling before, although he was pretty sure Jim had only done that to annoy him. Amazing, really, how many things Jim did seemed to operate under that exact same motivator.

“Alright,” he growled, crouching down to Jim’s side again. He pushed lightly on the shoulder nearest him.

“Jim.”

He jabbed a finger into the kid’s cheek.

“Jim?”

Still nothing.

McCoy frowned, moving his hand up to feel Jim’s forehead.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “He’s hot.”

“Thanks,” Jim whispered, going from passed out drooling to smirking in less than a second. McCoy jabbed him in the cheek again because he could.

“You’re sick, idiot,” he growled, pulling out his scanner and running it over Jim’s body. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

Jim attempted to wave dismissively, but couldn’t quite get his hand to move.

“I’m not sick,” he mumbled, his eyes blinking slowly. “I’m peachy, Bones. Just peachy.”

McCoy ignored him, concentrating on the results the machine was beeping out.

“Congrats, you have the flu.”

“How lame.”

McCoy shook his head in exaggerated sympathy, reaching into the pack he’d brought with him and pulling out a hypo. “Do you think you can walk back to your quarters, or I am going to have to emasculate you in front of your entire crew? I’m good with either.”

“I can walk?”

McCoy rolled his eyes.

“I’d believe you if you hadn’t phrased that as a question?”

He reached roughly across the chair and pulled Jim’s arm across his shoulders.

“One…two… _three_ ,” standing up and dragging Jim along with him.

Jim groaned half-heartedly, trying to push McCoy away.

“Wait, wait!” he called. McCoy stopped, keeping a tight hold on Jim as the other man looked around the Bridge quickly.

“I think—,” he said, then apparently lost his train of thought. He shook his head and changed tactics. “Spock.”

Spock bent down to Jim’s stooped level.

“Captain?”

“Keep…on track for Kappa Sollari,” Jim gritted out. “I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

“ _Thursday_ ,” McCoy corrected.

“Wednesday?”

“Friday.”

“Thursday,” Jim said, patting Spock on the arm. He then tried to turn to face the rest of the crew.

“No need to worry!”

And then he threw up on McCoy’s shoes.

So there was that.

 

 


	5. Not Their Mother

_Chekov_

Jim waved his arm wildly, trying to get Bones’ attention. The man was standing in the middle of the cafeteria, tray in hand and scowl in place, looking like a lost child.

“Bones!”

Bones finally turned towards them, tucking his head and stalking straight towards the table Jim sat at with Uhura and Spock.

Jim sat straighter in his chair.

Bones looked… like a hot damn mess, to put it frankly. His clothes were gross, rumpled and stained like he hadn’t changed in days, his hair (usually parted, combed, and styled with serial killer-level precision) was a disaster, and his shoulders sagged so heavily, it looked like he was melting.

“So. Rough week?” Jim asked.

Bones landed in his seat with a sigh, shaking his head.

“That’s an understatement,” he said darkly. “There was an outbreak of Lavarine in the security department—it ain’t pretty.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Jim sighed.

_Oh sweet, baby Jesus._

He’d just spent the last three days working with the majority of the Security’s officers. In close proximity. For hours on end. When they would have been at the height of their contagious period.

But there really was no need to bother Bones with that now. He wasn’t infected. He surely would have started showing symptoms by now.

“And because I must have broken a mirror and forgotten about it, almost half my staff got themselves infected with it too, including Dr. Toll,” he told them. Spock opened his mouth to say something and Jim quickly caught his eye and shook his head. Bones already looked like he was minutes away from wrapping his hands around something, and Jim preferred it not be his first officer’s neck.

“I don’t think I’ll get another break for a while,” Bones continued, picking through his salad and pulling out each tomato he found. “I gotta get the rest of the ship vaccinated before we have a full-blown epidemic on our hands.”

Bones looked sadly at the pile of tomatoes and Jim felt his heartstrings pull. For lack of anything better to do, he brought a hand up and patted Bones on the back a couple times.

“It’ll be…okay…buddy,” he said.

Bones merely nodded, going back to his lunch and letting Jim, Uhura, and Spock continue their conversation. They were elbow-deep in discussing the merits of doing a ship-wide instructional class on basic Federation languages. It was Uhura’s idea, really, with Spock serving as her sponsor/sentinel/eye candy. They just were trying to convince Jim of it. Jim liked the idea, though he really didn’t see where they could fit it in to everyone’s schedules. Bones’ opinion would have been truly appreciated at this point, but the good doctor was dangerously close to passing out in his soup, so Jim thought better of it.

“So, with that in mind, I think—oh.”

Uhura cut off whatever she had been about to say, her sharp eyes glaring across the room.

“What’s up with him?” she asked instead. Jim, Spock, and even Bones looked up and followed her to where she was pointing. Chekov was sitting at a table on the other side of the room by himself, pushing the food around with his fork, and looking like a terribly cliché picture of despair. All that was needed was a dark rain cloud localized above his head.

“Well that’s depressing,” Jim shook his head. “He didn’t seem too bad on the Bridge? A little quiet, but nothing too major.”

The kid was usually so upbeat, he practically buzzed. Now he just looked like a sad little puppy.

“Maybe we sh-” before Uhura could even finish her sentence, Bones stood up. Without saying a word to any of them, he left. He dropped down into the seat across from Chekov, startling the Navigator.

Jim looked around the cafeteria with a smile.

“Bones is going to ruin his reputation,” he said, shaking his head.

Jim was surprised, honestly, by how unsurprised he was. This was so totally Bones, right to the fucking core. As a doctor and as a person, Bones would never, ever, be able to walk away from something he could fix. He let Spock and Uhura continue on with the conversation without him, his concentration more attracted to the other table now.     

Chekov was talking, gesturing with his hands wildly, like he did when he was frustrated. Bones would nod thoughtfully, or offer a few comments, or even squeeze Chekov’s shoulder. Jim reached out grabbed one of the tomatoes Bones had excommunicated from his salad. Bones southern comfort could work miracles and by the time Jim watched the duo get up from the table, Chekov was beaming. He nodded at something Bones was saying to him. Bones, in return, offered a tired smile as he slapped the Russian’s back and headed back to Jim.

He sat down with a heavy sigh and continued eating his meal like nothing. And the thing that got Jim was that, to Bones, it probably did seem like nothing.

“Look at you, being so cute,” Jim said finally. Bones smiled shyly and Jim felt the world miss a step.

“The kid was just homesick. Needed some sense knocked into ‘em,” Bones said, letting his voice drop back to the growl he’d started with.

They watched Chekov leave the cafeteria, his steps practically bouncing. He waved happily when he saw them staring and his face split into a grin so wide, it had to have been uncomfortable. Jim and Uhura returned the wave cheerily while, incidentally, Bones and Spock both just nodded in Chekov’s direction.

The group fell into silence for a few minutes, until Spock cleared his throat.

“A broken mirror,” he said, once all eyes were on him. He looked trouble. “Would never affect the immune system.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Jim rested his chin on his hand, kind of scared about what Bones would do now, but also kind of resigned to it already.

 _“What?”_ Bones snapped, setting his fork down sharply. Uhura quickly grabbed Spock’s arm, leading him away from the table before another word could be spoken.

* * *

 

_Sulu_

 

McCoy liked to run.

But on his own terms. He liked to run, but not _for his life_ during an away mission gone south. This was exercise without the added stress of a ticking clock as he struggled to put an injured Ensign back together, or the frustration that came with running after a Captain who was two weeks late on his physical. So 0600 most mornings, McCoy could be found running laps in ship’s gym.

The place was usually pretty empty at that hour, which McCoy preferred; the peaceful mediation that jogging provided would be negated completely by forced small-talk. The only other person he consistently saw there was Sulu and the two of them had long ago reached a mutual understanding that words weren’t necessary between them.

McCoy knew he had always liked Sulu for a reason.

They never interacted besides the curt nod they occasionally gave each other in the locker room, and today was no different. The gym was deserted, leaving just Sulu and McCoy alone on the track. McCoy let Sulu get ahead of him by about 10 meters, giving them both space ( _ha_ ). He ran, ignoring the 30 or so odd things he needed to do once he got to his office, the most pressing of which was to get Jim to come in for that physical. Damn kid spooked like a horse around hypos.

He let his mind go blank as he slipped into a steady pace, forgetting Jim (just for a moment) and everything besides his feet hitting the track.

After about 15 minutes, Sulu started slowing. McCoy eyed him carefully, watching as the man came to a complete stop, resting his hands on his knees.

He was only 5 meters away when Sulu collapsed.

“Sulu!”

He sprinted, dropping to his knees beside the helmsman.

“Lieutenant? Can you hear me?” he asked, putting his hands on either side Sulu’s face. He looked around quickly, now cursing the fact that they were alone. Shit.

“Sulu?” he called louder.

The man was breathing, of that he was sure. Just as he’d been about to take off to the nearest intercom for help, Sulu blinked. He twisted his face out of McCoy’s hands.

“Dr. McCoy?” he asked slowly. “Wh-?”

“You passed out,” McCoy cut him off, watching to make sure Sulu’s eyes were reacting properly. “When’s the last time you ate, Lieutenant?”

“Uh….what day is it?”

McCoy sighed, resting his hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Stay here—don’t move. I’ll be right back,” McCoy ordered. He ran back to locker room, grabbing his bag and dumping it out onto the bench. Pushing through the clothes and the towels, he grabbed the banana he’d packed earlier, along with a bottle of water and ran back to Sulu’s side.

“Easy,” he said lightly, helping the Lieutenant sit up. He kept a hand hovering near his shoulder as he made him eat the food, in case he should start swaying.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth.

“You should be,” McCoy said. He sure as hell wanted to give more of a reprimand than that, but he held back. He’d wait until the man had his strength back and then lay on one of his patented “take better care of yourself or so help me God” lectures. Since coming to the Enterprise he’d had to give quite a few of those because the crew apparently was a bunch of bull-headed idiots. After a few minutes, McCoy felt comfortable letting Sulu go back to his room and rest. He would call Jim and let him know he needed to find someone to switch shifts with the helmsmen, just to be safe. The Lieutenant thanked him and left.

Like most things that happened on the ship, everything was back to normal a few days later.

0600, they were both back on the track, keeping the same respectable distance as they ran.

The only difference being that McCoy now took to leaving pieces of fruit and bottles of juice lying neatly next to Sulu’s stuff each and every morning they ran into each other.

Sulu didn’t mention it, so neither did he.

* * *

 

_Spock_

 

Their Vulcan had a cold and Jim was trying not to give him a hard time about it.

Just like human colds, it was more frustrating than an actual cause for concern. He’d been sick the last couple of days and he hadn’t even missed his shift. The only difference you could see in him was the added layers of clothing for warmth and the occasional sneeze or sniffle. Jim hadn’t even felt the need to inform Bones, since the Vulcan was functioning fine. He had just discreetly raised the heat on the bridge to a temperature more comfortable for his first officer, because he was a good Captain like that.

The turbolift doors opened quietly, and Jim grinned.

“Bones! My man. Long time no see,” he called cheerily.

Bones rolled his eyes.

“We had dinner last night, Jim.”

“Yeah, but when’s the last time you stopped by the Bridge?”

That part was true. It’d been over a week since the doctor’s surly presence had graced the Bridge. Bones raised an eyebrow as he walked over to stand next to the chair.

“You don’t like it when I stop by,” he accused. “You said I always ruin your fun.”

“Nah, no way I said that. It’s not fun unless it’s pissing you off.”

Bones snorted and, behind them, Spock sneezed.

Unlike the rest of the Bridge, Bones was unaccustomed to the noise. He turned, narrowing his eyes as he looked the Vulcan up and down.

“You didn’t feel the need to tell me Spock was sick?” he said, walking over to him. He raised a hand to try and put it on the Vulcan’s forehead but Spock leaned back quickly, out of reach.

Jim shrugged.

“He’s fine, Bones. It’s a cold. We didn’t want you to get your panties in a twist about it,” he finished quietly. “Yet here we are.”

Bones glared at Spock until the Vulcan allowed him to place a hand on his forehead.

“I am perfectly capable of handling this myself, Doctor. It is a minor infection,” Spock protested. Bones eyed him critically for another minute before he stood up straight.

“Get to Medbay, Mr. Spock.”

Jim and Spock spoke at the same time.

“Goddammit, Bones!”

“Doctor, please.”

Bones shook his head, glaring back and forth between the two.

“Save it,” he barked. “I am the one with the MD behind my name—”

“We know,” Jim interrupted quietly.

“So I get to make the call,” Bones finished. “Medbay. _Now._ ”

Spock looked up at Jim, clearly asking for a save that Jim knew he couldn’t provide. Instead, he sighed, pushing out of the chair.

“Sulu, you’ve got the con for a bit.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Bones snapped.

“With you, to make sure Spock is alright,” Jim shrugged.

Bones very clearly hated that idea, but let it slide. Instead, he pulled Spock out of his chair with a hand under his shoulder. The Vulcan moved out of his grip.

“I can walk myself, Doctor,” he said calmly, heading for the turbolift. Jim and Bones followed closely.

“Oh we’ll see about that,” Bones growled, as the doors slid shut.

Jim frowned.

“What does that even mean, Bones? See about what?”

Bones just shook his head.

“We’ll just see,” he repeated.

15 minutes later, Jim had had his fill of raiding Bones’ candy drawer. For a man so violently opposed to Jim eating sugar, Bones’ sweet tooth was _out of control_. Bones usually humored Jim enough to let him grab a few pieces but always put a stop to it before the fifth piece. After he’d managed to stuff 10 whole pieces into his pocket without the aforementioned miser bursting in, Jim thought he’d better investigate. He made his way out of the office and back over to Spock, who was sitting lightly on the edge of a bed.

“Where’s Dr. McCoy?” Jim asked with a mouthful of caramel, looking around.

“I do not know,” Spock said. His eyebrow was twitching. “He told me not to move and then left for ‘supplies,’ but was unclear about what that meant.”

When Bones did return, a few minutes later, it was with an armful of said supplies; a box of tissues, a bottle of water, and a bowl full of something hot. Jim hid his smile (and his horde of candy) as he watched Bones shove the bowl into Spock’s hands, dropping everything else onto the bed.

Spock, the adorable, naïve, sweet, sweet, child that he was, looked confused.

“Doctor?” he asked.

“Eat it,” Bones ordered, crossing his arms.

Spock quietly picked up the spoon.

The Vulcan always was a fast learner.

As he took the first bite, his eyebrows rose sharply.

“This…this is plomeek soup,” he said, looking at Bones strangely. The doctor stiffened.

“Yeah, so?” He said defensively. “Isn’t that the kind you like?”

Spock nodded as he took another bite. “I just find it odd you remembered such information.”

Bones said nothing, continuing to stare Spock down as he ate the soup. Only once the last bite was gone, did Bones finally back down with a smile. He took the bowl and shoved the water into his hands instead.

Spock drank it all without complaint, something Jim was impressed by. Bones took the empty bottle too.

“Alright, you’re all set,” he said. “Take it easy, keep warm, and try not to infect everyone.”

“Doctor, the Vulcan cold would not be transferable to—”

Bones interrupted him by walking away. He waved a hand before heading into his office. Spock turned to Jim.

“Captain, the Vulcan cold would not be transferable to humans.”

Jim smiled lightly.

“He knows that, Mr. Spock. It was just a joke.”

“Oh.”

* * *

 

_Uhura_

 

“Lieutenant, you’re shivering,” McCoy told the woman beside him.

 Uhura merely shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s not so bad,” she dismissed, fidgeting at the look he was giving her.

They were on shore leave for the first time in months. The whole crew was practically wetting themselves with excitement. Spock had elected to stay behind on the ship, since the planet they were stopping on was a little bit too cold his Vulcan sensibilities. McCoy had seen Jim’s expression when Spock had made that declaration, and had also noticed the dejected slump of Uhura’s shoulders. Jim was silent only a second before jumping in and asking her if she wanted to come along with him and McCoy. They had an afternoon hiking trip planned, he told her, and she was more than welcome to join them. She had eyed the two of them, not unsuspiciously, for a moment before accepting the invitation with a small smile.

The trio was now slowly making their way up a steep, forested hill. As usual, Jim was in the lead, the other two following closely. The higher they got, the more the temperature dropped and McCoy noticed how it affected the Lieutenant. After she shivered for the next two hundred meters, McCoy called for Jim to stop. Jim and Uhura watched him in confusion as he shrugged off his backpack. He set it at his feet before pulling off his charcoal colored coat.

He stretched his arm out towards Uhura, offering her the coat.

She shook her head.

“No, I can’t take that from you,” she said, taking a step back to further illustrate her words. “Then you’ll be cold.”

“I’ll be fine,” McCoy told her.

Which was true. He had on a sweater that was able to keep him plenty warm. He narrowed his eyes until Uhura finally relented, taking off her own pack and shrugging on the jacket. It was way too big, but she was able to roll up the sleeves. She relaxed into it, barely allowing her lips to move into a smile.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded before securing his own pack back on. They continued their hike, the young lieutenant no longer shivering.

“What if I told you I was cold, Bones?” Jim asked, glancing over his shoulder at his companions.

“I’d tell you to go to hell. Then you’d be warm,” McCoy replied, causing Uhura to laugh and Jim to turn back around with a glare and a fake, biting laugh that echoed off the trees around them.

 

 

* * *

 

_Scotty_

 

It was not that McCoy was hiding, per se. It was just that he had strategically chosen the exact seat in the rec room that blocked him from the rest of the room, with the intention being that they would never find him.

He sighed contently has he turned another page of his book.

The chair was comfortable too, especially with his feet propped up the way they were. All in all, it had been a nice way to spend the last couple hours.

So of course something had to come along and blow that all to hell.

Two ensigns from Engineering walked close by him, and he sank lower in his seat, hoping to remain out of their eyesight. They sat at the table nearest to him and their conversation echoed over to him. He tried to tune it out. Unsuccessfully.

“God, I just can’t stand having to take orders from him,” one of the men said. McCoy recognized the voice as Ensign Gregson, who had been in Sickbay last week for a large cut above his knee. It’d been fairly serious, but McCoy had patched him up, no problem, and sent him on his way a couple of hours later.   He didn’t recognize the voice of the other one, who was murmuring in agreement at Gregson’s comment.

“He’s the reason I had to go Medbay last Thursday, you know. He told me to go check the Bure Valve when he knew the whole system was unstable. I could have died,” Gregson continued.

“Maybe if one of us does get killed, they’ll realize they should have left him stranded on Delta Vega,” the other one muttered.

Wait a minute. Delta Vega?

_They were talking about Scotty._

Well, fuck that.

McCoy set his book down roughly and stood up.

“Do you want to tell me just what the hell you think you are doing?” he growled. The two looked over at him in panic as the room fell silent.

“Well?” he snapped loudly, stalking over to their table. Gregson flinched.

 “We…we were just talking about work,” he tried to lie. McCoy placed his hands on the table, leaning forward until he was only a few centimeters away from the two ensigns.

“Really? Because it sounded like you were bad-mouthing a superior officer,” McCoy said. They quickly began shaking their heads, but he ignored them. “A man who has saved this entire ship on multiple occasions, including both your asses, is renowned throughout the galaxy for his discovery of trans warp beaming, and has never said a bad word against anybody on this ship. And you honestly think you deserve the right to talk about him like that?”

“We—we just—”

McCoy wasn’t having it.

“Just FYI, Ensign,” he growled. “Mr. Scott felt horrible about your accident. He only left your side after I forced him out while you were drooling in your sleep.”

“I didn’t know that, sir,” Gregson said quietly.

“Well you know it now,” McCoy said.

He leaned in closer to the two and continued in a whisper still loud enough to carry to all the on-lookers, because, hey, they might as well know it too. “If I ever hear the two of you talking about anyone on this ship, hell, even the plants in the botany lab, with anything but admiration and respect, I will personally see that you are escorted off this ship, with a recommendation to the Admiralty that you be stationed on the very same outpost you seemed so keen on sending Mr. Scott to a few minutes ago.”

The two ensigns’ eyes got wide at that.

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked slowly.

The pair quickly looked back down at the table, mumbling indistinguishably. McCoy slammed his hands on the table roughly, causing everyone in the room to jump.

“I said do I make myself clear?” he repeated with more volume. Both men looked up at him and nodded vigorously.

“Y…yes,” Gregson stuttered.

“’Yes’ what?” McCoy growled.

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander!” he yelled, face red from embarrassment.

“Good. Now don’t you have somewhere else to be?” McCoy asked the two coolly before standing up straight and crossing his arms. They both scrambled quickly out of their seats. The ensign that wasn’t Gregson paused and threw McCoy a quick, awkward salute before following his friend out the door at a near-run. McCoy smirked as he watched them go.

“As you were!” he called to the rest of the room. They all snapped back to their activities as he sank back down in his chair.

Hopefully he had scared everyone enough that’d they’d leave him alone.

That night, McCoy walked into his office with a stack of PADDs that needed his signature. The first thing he noticed upon entering was a pair of feet propped up on his desk, tapping the wood lightly. Jim sat in his chair, arms folded, eyeing McCoy thoughtfully.

“Bones, why are you scaring my crew?” he said, his tone light. McCoy walked over and roughly knocked his feet off the desk.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” he said, setting down the PADDs and perching on the corner of the desk. “Scaring the crew sort of comes with the job description.”

“Really? I don’t remember reading that CMOs were supposed to make two adult ensigns cry,” Jim replied, smirking at McCoy who crossed his arms, realization dawning.

“That’s because those two jackasses deserved it,” he said. “You can’t let a couple bad eggs ruin the whole batch, Jim.”

Jim’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion momentarily, before he shook his head lightly.

“I never said it wasn’t deserved, I just wanted to see if the rumors were true,” Jim replied.

“Rumors?”

“Yeah, Bones, haven’t you heard?” Jim said, grinning widely. “Everyone is talking about how you came swooping down on Gregson and Phillips like a harpy,” here Jim deepened his voice, adding a thick southern drawl, “’do I make myself clear?’ ‘I will personally see you stranded on a desert planet.’”

“I never said that!” McCoy said with exasperation, holding back the urge to laugh at Jim’s piss-poor impression of him. Jim waved his hand dismissively.

“Whatever. The point is, I had to come down here after I heard,” he said, suddenly serious.

McCoy frowned.

“What? Are you going to throw me in the brig?” he asked. He hadn’t even thought about the potential ramifications his actions could have. He’d been too occupied forcing himself not to slap the two ensigns across the back of their heads like the petulant children they were. Jim quickly shook his head.

“No, I just came down to say ‘thanks’ from Scotty,” Jim told him. McCoy groaned.

“Scotty knows?”

Jim nodded excitedly.

“And he’s very touched you stood up for him, even though he’ll never tell you himself,” Jim said.

 McCoy smirked at that. Of course Scotty’s tough Scottish pride would never let him actually come down here to see him himself. Sending Jim along as messenger, though, was appreciated. McCoy tried to play it off lightly.

“It wasn’t anything,” he told Jim offhandedly, “Those kids were being idiots and somebody needed to put them in their place.”

Jim stood up, smiling that damn annoying smile he always wore when he was keeping his thoughts to himself, whatever they may be. Jim clapped him on the shoulder as he passed and left the office without another word.

* * *

 

_Jim_

 

It’s sometimes fun being friends with Jim.

Most times, in fact.

McCoy followed behind him for a reason and that reason was that Jim was just that right kind of irrepressible.

Jim was Jim, and everything that entailed.

 So sometimes McCoy had to spend his lunch lecturing Jim about eating better or slapping food out of Jim’s hands in order to save him from an allergic reaction.

Sometimes he had to listen to a dirty limerick Jim had thought of on his way home.

Sometimes he got dragged along to places he’d never wanted to go in the first place.

And sometimes he got stuck sitting in the cargo hold on Deck 9, thinking about fathers and sons and the way people whistle in the dark.

Every year since they had met, Jim had celebrated his birthday the exact same way. No cake, no balloons, no presents. Jim’s birthday wasn’t a celebration—it was a memorial, so you had to treat it as such. So that meant drinking and crying and occasionally throwing things. And through all of that, Jim preferred to be alone. Which is why McCoy always made sure to be there.

A dirty bar. An empty classroom. A park bench on Fultun Street. Wherever Jim wandered off to. Since starting on the _Enterprise_ , it was the cargo hold on Deck 9.

It was a big room, wide and echoing and drafty as hell. McCoy crossed his arms to keep warm. Jim was beside him, with his knees drawn up to his chest, looking ridiculously young. Time was different whenever they were cut off from the rest of the ship, so it felt like they’d been here for hours.

Jim hadn’t said anything yet. Some years he did, some years he didn’t. It all just kind of depended. Last year, it’d been a yelling year.

So when Jim started talking, McCoy jumped a little.

“I belong here, you know?”

McCoy turned to look at him.

“People like me,” he elaborated. “We belong in space.”

“How do figure?”

For an honest minute, they stared at each other.

Jim was right, in a way. If there was ever a person in the universe meant to be in space, it was James Tiberius Kirk. He wouldn’t settle for just any old frontier, no sir. He wanted the final one.

Jim just shrugged.

“It’s about coming back to the start. I was born here. I’ll probably die here.”

McCoy shook his head.

“You know I hate it when you say stuff like that.”

“Sorry.”

They fell quiet. Jim turned back to look at the opposite wall, while McCoy watched him. He realized he had it wrong before. Jim wasn’t just Jim. He could never be _just Jim_ to anyone, especially McCoy.

After a while, McCoy sighed.

“You’re right, you do belong here,” he said. He paused. It just wasn’t fair that Jim would never be able to have his cake and eat it too. “But not for that reason.”

Jim didn’t say anything, just stared back at him for a minute until McCoy chose to elaborate.

“It’s because you deserve it.”

Jim wasn’t crying. Well, he was, but McCoy wasn’t going to call him out on it, so technically he wasn’t. After a minute, though, he laughed.

“Are we going to hug now? I think this is the part where we hug.”

McCoy smiled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, get over here, you idiot.”

Jim hugged him tightly and then, in the same move, wiped his nose on McCoy’s shoulder because he was disgusting like that.

“Dammit, Jim.”

 


	6. Not a Patient (Part One)

It started with a sneeze.

Actually it started with Chekov being burned at the stake, but that wasn’t really important in the grand scheme of things. But the sneeze was. It was loud and unexpected and made him uncomfortable.

“Ow?” he whispered, unsure.

Chekov looked up from the bed, looking equally startled. Though, admittedly, his fear was probably more to do with the minor case of severe PTSD he’d developed from the aforementioned stake burning than from the sneeze itself.

McCoy cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” he said.

But then he sneezed again. And again. And again.

“Sorry,” McCoy repeated, shaking his head roughly. “Damn, kid, I’m--”

Another sneeze.

“ _-sorry._ ”

Now Chekov’s bottom lip was shaking and McCoy felt like the world’s biggest asshole. He gave the kid a small smile before continuing to wrap his wrist.

The sneezing was…odd. It was…new and he didn’t particularly… care for it.

He’d been fine this morning. Then again, so had Chekov.  Maybe that was it. Maybe he was allergic to plants on the surface of the planet. Or maybe he was allergic to the bullshit of the final frontier and his body was calling it quits, officially. Would anyone really be surprised?

He’d beamed down to the planet after Jim had (somehow) managed to convince the elders there that the whole “virgin sacrifice” thing was a little overzealous and they had cut the Russian down from the tree, albeit regretfully. Which, now that he thought about it, McCoy should have been pissed about more than he had been. Seriously, who “regretfully” refrains from burning someone at the stake? But he’d been too distracted by Chekov _being on fire_ at that particular moment, so excuse the fuck out of him. Whatever. It was fine. In the end, the kid only walked away with 2 nd degree burns on his arms, a ruined shirt, and a fun story to write home about, eventually.

 So McCoy was _tired_. Apart from that miserable mess of a mission, he’d been working since 6 am yesterday, covering for Dr. Toll who requested time off to finish the final draft of the article he had been working on since forever and he—

 _Oh shit_. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

Toll’s files.

McCoy still had a stack of charts Toll had specifically asked him to review his study on his desk. They were important, extremely important, and McCoy had completely spaced them. Which meant, he’d have to get those done sometime today too, between treating Chekov’s fucked up psychosis, covering the rest of alpha and beta shift, and somehow manage to make it to dinner with Jim.

Wonderful.

He felt another sneeze coming and he tried to hold it in.

It came out as a loud, wholly inappropriate cough instead and Chekov screamed.

Just a little bit.

“Sorry,” McCoy repeated uselessly. He finished wrapping Chekov’s arm as fast as he could, before he could cause the kid anymore stress. He backed up a few feet, just in case.

“Okay, Ensign,” he said slowly, ignoring the small jump Chekov still made at his voice. “I’m going to have Nurse Chapel bring around a sedative in a little bit. I want you to stay here for tonight. Does that-”

And then he coughed again and Chekov really did start to cry, so McCoy figured it was best he remove himself from the situation completely.

“Sorry. Just…sorry. Feel better,” McCoy said quickly, pulling a privacy curtain around the bed.

He sighed, rubbing at the ache in the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to scare the kid. He was pretty sure making an adult ensign cry was included in the “do no harm” motto.

With Christine making rounds, he felt secure in leaving Chekov. He nodded at her as he passed, headed for the office to start on those case files for Toll.

It wasn’t until three hours later that McCoy realized how truly, truly, fucked he was.

The cough was worse. The sneezing was out of control. There was now a sharp headache added into the mix. And he was pretty sure he had a fever, but he was too afraid to check.

Because the thing was, he couldn’t get sick.

Really. Toll was out, finishing the project he’d been working on pretty much since they started the five year mission. Who was McCoy to call him in for something as simple as an allergy shot? Scanning or injecting himself was against about _a million and a half_ protocols, so that was out.

He dropped the PADD he was reading and let his head drop to the table with a wet cough. _Ow._ He blinked slowly at the opposite wall, feeling light-headed.

He could probably get Christine to scan him and bully her into not calling Toll in. Except he didn’t trust her in the slightest. She would over-react, he guaranteed it. She would listen to him, nod, and then completely ignore every single thing he did (because she _was nice like that_. Because _she cared_ ) and call Toll in. And then Toll would miss his deadline for his article, all because McCoy couldn’t handle a case of the sniffles.

He felt his stomach start to protest and he groaned.

_Ah, hell. You’re right._

He wasn’t Jim. He’d never been good at lying to himself, so he couldn’t just go about and pretend he wasn’t really fucking worried now. His head felt too heavy and the coughs were getting thicker. He couldn’t make that offhanded of he tried. He was an old country doctor and old country doctors know their shit and those were not good signs.

So, yeah, he needed a doctor.

The problem, he discovered a few minutes later, was that he couldn’t actually get up.

Every move he made sent his stomach doing this thing where it kind of just was screaming and he wanted to be alarmed, but he was too distracted by the pounding in his head and the nagging ache in his chest.

Oh fuck. He fucked up. He fucking fucked up now.

He pushed at the desk and only succeeded in sending the files he had spread out sliding to the floor.

He couldn’t really get any of his muscles to work quite right, so calling for Christine was out of the question.

Despite the fact that he knew there was absolutely no way in seven hells he was going to reach it, he still thought he should give the comm system on the wall a shot.

With a stupid amount of effort, he slid off his chair and dropped to the floor. Then he was forced to lie there awhile while his entire existence narrowed down to the simple action of breathing—because, for whatever reason, in the last .2 seconds, it had somehow become incredibly difficult to do.

Something pulled deep has he coughed and okay, yeah, now he was alarmed.

He tried to ignore breathing for a minute. He could worry about it later, he supposed. Instead, he worked on moving. Moving was helpful. It had a decided end goal and benefit. But the floor was moving too, so he couldn’t really keep track of which way was how. He made it around the edge of the desk (maybe) before he had to stop because, after all the excitement his stomach had started to feel left out and before he knew it, he was throwing up.

And then, too late, he realized he had forgot about breathing and wasn’t able to actually get—

 

* * *

 

Bones was late and Jim was trying not to take it personally.

“It’s just that he’s never late, you know? Back at academy, right, he would always wake up exactly 4 minutes before his alarm. Like clockwork. Every day. But he still would set it, because that’s just who he is. That’s Leonard H. McCoy for you. He doesn’t even have faith in himself and sometimes that really pisses me off, you know? It makes me want to pinch him. Like _hello, do you now understand how important you are?_ Because he is. He’s just so quintessentially good and it’s blinding how beautiful that is but he can never see it and so he’ll never understand that he could just not set an alarm and everything would be okay. Life would never go on without him. It couldn’t! If he wasn’t here, who I would fight with? Spock? The research department? _You?_ No way. No offense, but no way. Fighting with Bones is...you can’t even imagine it. That man was made to bicker and I don’t think I could ever get tired of it. Because we always would fight over the alarm clock thing. But in a fun way? Bones is like that. Fighting and arguing and being bored with Bones? It’s fun. Do you know what I mean?”

Jim took a deep breath and looked across the table expectantly.

“Um…” Scotty started to say, but then he looked back down at his soup and scratched the side of his nose. “…yes?”

Jim threw up his hands.

“Jesus, thank you! Somebody gets it!” he said, resisting the urge to shake Scotty by the shoulders. Scotty smiled weakly.

“You know…Captain,” he said. “You could just…go see what’s keeping Dr. McCoy? If you’re so worried.”

“Oh,” Jim said aloud. “I guess I could. Do you think that’s too much, though?”

“Too…much?”

“You know,” Jim says, waving his hand around to say what he couldn’t. “Too much.”

“Um…no?”

Damn, Scotty was good at this. He should sit with him more often.

“You’re right,” Jim smiled. “I’m going to go do that. Good talk, Scotty.”

With that, he pushed off the table without a backwards glance.

 Bones probably had a very good excuse for being late. It was Tuesday. Ever since their very first month at the academy, Tuesdays were unofficially official Jim and Bones night, and all that entailed. Tuesday nights were the nights when they could fall back to just being Jim and Bones. That’s it. Nothing more special than that, in theory.

Jim was ridiculously attached to them.

“Just Jim and Bones” was his favorite Jim and Bones, in his opinion.

He cleared his throat and just managed to wipe the stupid smile off his face before he walked through the doors of Medbay.

Chekov was there, considerably less on fire than he was the last time Jim had seen him, so that was good. He was the only patient in the joint and he was passed out and drooling, the small light above his bed the only one on in the place.

Jim frowned.

_Wherefore art thou doctor?_

He made his way to the back, where he could the sounds of someone rooting through the nearest storage closet.

“Bones?” he called quietly, leaning into the doorway.

“Not quite,” Christine told him, looking up from the box in front of her with a smile. “Try the office. He shut himself in there a couple hours with a stack of PADDs, with instructions not to disturb him unless there were Klingons at the front door. Are there Klingons at the front door, Captain?”

“Something like that,” Jim winked at her. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Christine shook her head but went back to her box.

“If you get in trouble and try to drag me along with you, I will quit. Just FYI.”

Jim put a hand to his heart.

“You don’t mean that,” he said solemnly. “If you quit, Bones would quit and then I’d have to fire you both. It’d be a travesty.”

“I think I could live with it,” she said, but still she was laughing. Jim shook his head at her one last time before pushing off the door frame.

 _Klingons at the Front Door would be a totally rad band name_ , he thought idly as he knocked on the office door. He could sing, Bones could be on drums (could Bones play drums?  He’d have to ask), Spock on Bass, Uhura on symbols, Sulu on…hmm. Yeah, he’d work on the details later.

He pushed open the door when Bones refused to answer. He did that, on occasion, when he thought he could get away with it. It made Jim laugh, to be honest. Like a closed door would actually mean something to-

Bones?

“Bones,” he breathed, kneeling down next to him.

He was lying halfway between the desk and the doorway and he wasn’t moving.

_“CHRISTINE.”_

There was puke everywhere, all over the front of Bones’ shirt and Jim avoided looking at it as he moved Bones head unto his lap. Bones was covered in sweat, his skin burning as Jim pushed the hair off his face.

_“Jim, what the hell happened?”_

Christine dropped down beside him, completely unfazed by the puke as she pulled the tricorder from her pocket.

“I don’t know—I just found him like this,” Jim managed. He could feel Bones breathing from there, but it was all off. It hitched and dragged at all the wrong places.

“Damn,” Christine whispered, frowning at whatever the tricorder was telling her. She swallowed before grabbing Jim’s wrist.

“Stay with him. I have to get Dr. Toll,” she said, dropping his wrist as she stood up.

“Wait, what’s wrong—”

But Christine was already running out the door.

Jim looked back at Bones and tried not to panic even though it was a little too late. They didn’t teach him anything about this at the Academy. What kind of business were they even running over there? This was absolutely something they should have prepared him for. Jim ran his hand along Bones’ face, tapping lightly on his cheek, for lack of any other bright ideas.

“Bones?” he asked again. “Hey, Bones. Can you wake up now…please?”

(Much, much later, Bones would joke with him that it was the ‘please’ that did it).

Bones’ eyes blinked open and before Jim could really appreciate that, he was being pushed aside with clumsy, uncoordinated hands. Bones turned his head as best he could and threw up something black and thick onto the floor.

Um. What?

Apparently finished, Bones dropped his head back onto Jim’s thighs with a wheeze. He was blinking slowly, like he couldn’t quite get anything focused.

“Hey,” Jim said again. He pushed Bones’ hair back. “Eyes on me, Bones. Come on.”

But Bones couldn’t follow directions anymore and he looked past Jim’s shoulder, at the light fixtures on the ceiling. But hey, it was improvement.

Toll and Christine ran in, making the tiny office incredibly cramped and if Bones were truly awake he would have thrown a fit, Jim was sure of it.

“Let’s get him to a bed,” Toll said, in his quiet, fragile voice. _He wasn’t meant for emergencies,_ Bones had told Jim once. And now Jim had a whole new thing to panic about.

Jim pulled one of Bones’ arms around his neck and stood, staying hunched enough for Christine to do the same on the other side. The movement must have been too much for Bones, because he passed out as soon as they heaved him up. But not before he coughed up the same black goo from earlier.

“What is that?” Jim panicked. Christine met his eye as they slowly made it out of the office.

“It’s bacterial discharge,” she said, out of breath from dragging Bones. “He’s got Cytherian Fever, it’s a side effect.”

“ _Is that bad_?”

They lowered Bones onto the bed as gently as they could.

“Yeah, Jim. That’s bad.”

He was pushed out of the way by Toll, who was moving around the biobed quicker than Jim had thought was possible for the older man. Bones would be delighted to know that than man seemed to care.

“Like really bad?” Jim asked, small and quiet.

Neither Christine nor Toll answered him.

_So, yeah, like really bad._


	7. Not a Patient (Part Two)

Jim really could spend the rest of his life arguing with Bones.

That sounded fucked up, in a way, but Jim just thought it was kind of awesome. And he knew, somewhere deep, deep down, Bones felt the same. Somewhere along the line, they had learned they fit together like that.  A day would come, potentially, that Jim wouldn’t  be absolutely, utterly, bemused by Bones’ cranky attitude; he’d stop finding every sharp curse or inappropriately-timed opinion endearing, stop seeing each wild hand gesture or metaphor-heavy monologue as the _just the cutest little thing this side of the galaxy_.

But today, he’d do just about anything in the world to hear even a half-hearted curse of his name.

“Wake up.”

“Bones”

“Bones, wake up.”

_“Bones.”_

“Wake up.”

“Bones, you cranky bastard. Wake up!”

But the arguing thing didn’t really work as a one-sided game.

Jim set his head down at the edge of the mattress, staring miserably at Bones, who continued his firm commitment to being passed out. Jim had been right there, in the uncomfortable chair, for the better part of the last two days and Bones, selfish son of a bitch that he was, had refused to wake up.

He’d woken up plenty of times in the last 38 hours, but that was more like “waking up” than anything. He would open his eyes long enough to cough up more of that fun black liquid. Or he would decide to change it up and violently throw it up instead, just to keep them on their toes. Then he would pass right back out and leave Jim an anxious, panicking, ridiculous, hot mess.

If he really wanted to get nitpicky on the details, he could count Bones’ fever-induced delirium as waking up. He’d done it three times now and it was more terrifying than any of the other symptoms combined. He’d jump awake, out of nowhere, and then have no idea where he was. He’d try to talk but inevitably couldn’t and he’d get so frustrated he’d pass out.

Cytherian Fever was really bad, it turned out.

Really, really bad. Like, so bad that Jim had half a mind to turn the ship right the fuck around and head back to the nearest starbase to drop Bones off. Hell, maybe he could just ship him back to Earth. Earth wouldn’t have misguided tribes trying to use his navigator as a virgin sacrifice. It wouldn’t have Cytherian Fever. Earth would be nice and safe and Bones would definitely be bored but he would be _alive_ and that was the real key thing here.

He moved his arms so he could cross them while still resting his head on the bed and glared.

“You’re such an asshole,” he said, because that was easier than freaking out and confessing how much the thought of the _Enterprise_ without Bones scared him. “You’re an asshole who _had_ to beam down to the planet to save Chekov and _had_ to contract one of the rarest diseases in the history of the galaxy and _had_ to pass out just in time for me to walk in and have to save you. That’s rude, you know. That’s really rude.”

Bones breathing hitched again, but he slept on.

“He’s going to make you feel stupid for worrying.”

Jim looked up at Uhura, standing at the foot of the bed with a small smile. Jim shrugged, shooting for as much dignity as he could.

“Well I’m going to make him feel stupid for getting a disease from the dark side of the moon.”

“Great idea.”

Uhura pulled up a chair to other side of the bed and sat down, frowning thoughtfully at Bones.

“So what’s the verdict?”

Jim regretfully pulled his head back from the bed and joined Uhura in frowning, because that’s kind of how their relationship worked.

“He’s fucked,” Jim told her simply. “But Christine said he’d pull through. He’s just not gonna enjoy it. There’s gonna be a lot of puking and a lot of coughing and a lot of being generally miserable. Of course, that’s assuming he wakes up ever.”

Jim poked at Bones’ arm.

Bones didn’t get sick much, so Jim guessed he was just making up for that now.

Jim just kinda wished he hadn’t done so with such terrifying efficiency. Couldn’t he have started out with an underhand throw, like a cold or the flu or even chicken pox? Oh no. Bones being Bones, he had to go straight for the “everything that can go wrong”-type situation right off the bat. 0 to 160 in two seconds flat.

Jim shook his head. He was mixing metaphors and Bones would never allow that.

“Anyways,” he said, looking back at Uhura. “How’s the Bridge?”

“Exactly as you left it, obviously. Don’t even think about it,” Uhura assured him with a smile. “Just worry about Leonard.”

Jim tried not to laugh, because that would have been wholly inappropriate.

“Worry about Leonard,” he repeated. What a novel concept. Worrying about Bones is the new final frontier, really. Jim had never really had to worry about Bones before and that was exactly how he wanted it. “I think I can manage that, Lieutenant.”

Uhura was looking at him with a strange quirk to her mouth and Jim had no idea what was up with that.

“He’s going to be okay, Jim,” she said finally, pushing her chair back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“That’s a little bold,” Jim said jokingly and Uhura rolled her eyes.

“Goodbye, Captain,” she said serenely, heading out the door.

“I think she’s starting to like me,” Jim whispered conspiringly to Bones as the doors slid shut behind her.

Bones ignored him and remained stubbornly unconscious.

Jim must have fallen miserably asleep in his miserable chair after that, because the next thing he knew, he was jerking miserably awake.

His eyes instantly went to the bed, where Bones was struggling weakly to sit up. It would have been adorable, Jim thought, had it not been for the panicked look on Bones’ face.

“Bones?”

Bones didn’t hear him and instead pushed the hand Jim placed on his shoulder away.

“G’…be…. sick,” he rasped and Jim winced.

“Okay, okay. Just relax. Christine?” he called.

But the nurse was already there, holding out the basin like a goddamn champ as Bones threw up violently. Jim reached over and rubbed between his shoulders, trying to help at least a little.

After a few minutes, thankfully, the puking turned into wet coughs until eventually even those trailed off, leaving Bones to sag instantly. Jim caught him before he could fall right over the edge of the bed and leaned him back against the pillows. His skin was still burning, his eyes glassy as the trailed across the ceiling.

“Bones?”

He briefly managed to get his eyes over to where Jim was sitting before they shifted away, staring back at the lights above him.

“J’m?”

Jim smiled.

“Yeah, Bones. You with me?”

“Wh-wh..ere?”

“Medbay,” Jim said, trying to pull the blankets back up to Bones’ shoulders, but the other man kept pushing his hands away.

“Where?” he asked again. “I…don’t…”

“It’s the fever,” Christine said quietly when Bones left the thought unfinished.  “He’s delirious.”

Jim nodded before grabbing Bones’ arm gently.

“Hey, Bones, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Bones turned to him again, looking absolutely out of it.

“Jim?” he asked, like he was surprised.

Jim just nodded, holding tighter to his arm.

“You…okay?”

Jim laughed roughly.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Bones,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re more worried about you right now.”

“…sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Jim said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Jim said thickly, though it wasn’t angry.

There was another hitch in Bones breathing, a slight trip as he breathed in and he was back to coughing. They were loud, unsettling coughs that shook Bones (and Jim) to the core. He finished, spitting more of the black junk into the basin Christine pushed under his nose, and fell back to the pillows. He looked like he was going to pass back out again, until he caught sight of Jim and his eyebrows shot up.

“Jim…you’re here?” he slurred.

Jim just gave him another small smile.

“Where else would I be?” he asked, but Bones was already asleep.

Jim didn’t take it personal.

* * *

 

When he was younger, he had loved to climb trees.

He didn’t know why that was his first thought when he woke up, but it was. There was a huge oak tree in his backyard he used to climb every day after school, until the time he’d fallen and broken his arm in two places. He remembered lying there, absolutely stunned for a few seconds before the pain had caught up to his brain.

It was kind of the same feeling as now. He was headed for that crash, headed towards the bottom of the tree all over again but he wasn’t nine anymore. He was 32 and couldn’t really get away with crying into his father’s shoulder now, no matter how much he wanted to.

Because _holy shit_ did everything hurt.

It wasn’t the sharp, intense pain of the broken arm. It was more like a nauseating thrum all over, a radiating ache from his head to his toes that tagged-team with the exhaustion and left him feeling completely wrung out. And he was almost willing to let it overwhelm him, was actually seconds away from dropping back into the dream about his tree, but something was tickling his hand.

The feather-light touch switched to his palm and he grew frustrated.

“St’p’it.”

The pressure dropped away from his hand and for half a second he almost regretted asking it leave. He tried to say something but only got out an embarrassing, half-protesting wheeze.

_“Bones?”_

 McCoy attempted to make a move, any move at all, but nothing was working quite right. He couldn’t even open his eyes. He concentrated hard for a solid 30 seconds and finally got his hand to twitch.

“Christine, he’s waking up!”

The voiced was yelling now and McCoy winced.

“Sorry,” was whispered in response.

 “Is that true Dr. McCoy? Are you awake?”

There was a new voice and it had way more sass than the situation warranted.

“Try…in t’be,” he mumbled back.

“Well, you are doing a shitty job. Your eyes aren’t even open.”

That was the first voice again and it sounded like it was laughing and McCoy felt offended personally. He knew that voice, he knew both voices, and he was pretty sure he liked them, so he couldn’t really figure out why someone he liked would be mean to him when he wasn’t even awake yet. He took a shaky breath.

“Too h’rd.”

“I believe in you.”

Oh. That was Jim, he was sure of it. Jim, with the laughing voice and awfully blue eyes.

Mustering the entirety of his determination and grit, McCoy somehow managed to get one eye open. It took him a whole minute before he could finally get the other one open and another minute after that before he could actually get them focused on anything. He blinked a few times before he could make out the light fixture above his head. It was a nice light fixture. It was simple in design and efficient and he kind of wanted to—

“Bones?”

Oh, yeah.

He blinked again, twisting his head with a wince until he could look at the chair beside his bed. Jim was seated on the edge as his fingers tapped against the hard plastic. He was grinning.

“Di’ I ev’r tell you I’use to clim’trees?”

McCoy was ridiculously proud he managed such a long sentence in one go, even if it grated on his throat like sandpaper and made him lightheaded.

Though it seemed impossible, Jim’s smile got even wider.

“No, you never told me that,” he said. “Were you good?”

McCoy nodded and then groaned as the movement pulled painfully on everything.

“Ow,” he wheezed.

“Do you think you can answer some questions, Leonard?”

McCoy slowly, ever so slowly, turned his head to the other side of the bed. The light from the next biobed over framed Christine, giving her a glowing outline.

“Like’n’angel,” he finished the thought out loud.

Christine took that as a yes.

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

Probably not. He couldn’t really do much of anything at the moment. Breathing was hard. Way harder than it should be and it made everything all that more annoying.

“Thursd’y?”

“Nope. Good guess, though.”

Oh well, he hadn’t been particularly confident about that answer.

“Okay, how about this one: do you know where you are?”

With another surge of energy, he moved his head to look past her, at the dim lights and empty beds and shining floor.

“Med…”

He gave up halfway through the word and sighed. If she couldn’t figure out the rest of the answer, she didn’t deserve to know.

“Right,” he heard her say encouragingly. “Now, what about us? Do you know who we are?”

He peeled his eyes back open, trying to raise an arm but failing comically. Instead he just looked at her pointedly.

“C’rs’tn,” he slurred, tripping over the tricky sounds in the name but knowing she’d get it. He rolled his head back to the other side of the bed. Jim was still smiling at him.

“You’ve pretty eyes,” he said, which he knew wasn’t the right answer, but he thought he’d give it a shot. He was rewarded with Jim’s laugh.

“Try again?”

“Jim,” he sighed, tired and cranky. “It’s…Jim.”

“Okay, now here’s the important question: how are you feeling?”

He didn’t like that question. That one wasn’t like the others where he could reasonably scrape together an answer from the muffled mess he was in. It didn’t have an immediately right or wrong answer. It was messy. He said the first reasonably coherent thing that flew through this mind.

“Not…r’ght.”

“‘Not right’?” Christine repeated with a frown.

“Yeah,” he said. “…no’good.”

Christine ran a hand along his forehead and he tried not to wince at how cold her hands were.

“I’m going to get Dr. Toll to come check you out. Don’t move,” she said absently.

She walked away and McCoy frowned deeply at Jim.

“Wh’r th’ell does she think ‘m goin’?”

Jim laughed again.

“Good point,” he said, but didn’t answer the question. That was okay, McCoy was too distracted by a new train of thought to care much.

“Jim,” he said. “Did I miss tues’ay ni’ht?”

Jim frowned at him a moment before shaking his head softly.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t sweat it. You had a good excuse.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, you were passed out in a pool of your own puke at the time.”

“Oh. I don’t rem’ber that.”

“Exactly, so don’t worry about,” Jim told him gently, giving him another smile and McCoy felt his stomach jump a little. He wanted to say something witty and important in response but instead he coughed in a tragically unwitty and unimportant way. When he couldn’t quite stop, Jim was up and moving, helping him sit up in the bed.

He also, apparently, had the foresight to bring a plastic basin, because when coughing apparently wasn’t enough fun and he started puking, it was right there in his lap. He kept his arm securely around McCoy’s shoulders, despite the fact that it had to be pretty damn gross from his perspective. It was equally as gross from where McCoy sat, but he was too busy trying not to pass out to really feel too disgusted. That could come later.

He spit a couple more times before he felt satisfied he wasn’t going to start up again before letting his face drop forward onto Jim’s chest. This whole “being awake” business had officially lost its novelty.

“’m tired, Jim,” he mumbled miserably.

“I know,” Jim said. McCoy could feel the words vibrate through Jim’s chest and it tickled his nose. “I know. Think you can stay awake long enough for Christine and Dr. Toll to get back?”

He didn’t. But he would try, because Jim had asked.

He still made sure to wipe his runny nose on Jim’s shirt though. Because he was petty like that.

“Dr. McCoy?”

Third voice. _New_ voice. Dr. Toll?

“Hmm?” he said, still leaning against Jim. It felt nice. Jim was hot blooded, through and through, and the heat he radiated kept McCoy from shivering. Distantly, unimportantly, he could hear the whirling of a tricorder.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Nope. Not even kind of. He was kind of getting that it must have been bad. Judging from the fact that he was pretty sure death would hurt less than how he felt at that particular moment. The last thing he remembered was Spock paging him, telling him he was needed on the planet for…something. Something important?

“The planet?” He still couldn’t get his voice much above a whisper.

“That’s right. You beamed down to help Mr. Chekov and picked up Cytherian Fever for your trouble.”

“ _Cyt’an Fever?”_

That explained the whole _it-would-be-easier-being-dead_ state he was currently in. It also explained why Jim apparently wasn’t at all concerned about being so close to him. Cytherian Fever didn’t pass from human to human. McCoy was alone in hell so he guessed he could count his blessings.

“Afraid so,” Toll went on. “You’ve been out for a few days, but your fever broke last night.”

Lucky him.

“Lucky me,” he moaned.

“All things considered, yeah,” Christine said. “Lucky you. You’re alive, but you gave us a hell of a time first.”

McCoy shivered.

“We’re going to get your next round of meds ready. There’s…a lot of them,” Toll finished unnecessarily. Yes, McCoy knew he was already screwed six ways from Sunday and it was going to take a little bit to fix that. He was a doctor, usually. He knew things.

“Can you bring another blanket too?” Jim asked.

Bless Jim for knowing that was what he’d been struggling to ask. Bless him so fucking much.

“You got it, Captain,” Christine said.

As soon as they were gone, he sank farther against Jim, losing any motivation to stay awake in the space of two seconds.

“You can’t sleep like this, Bones,” Jim chided, moving a hand to the back McCoy’s neck. “You’ll throw your back out.”

“Don’t care."

In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t care. Honestly. How much worse would a kink in his neck make when his body already felt like it was turning inside out? Maybe it would even help, in some twisted, _fire-with-fire_ way.

Jim did care, though, and he pulled and pushed and embarrassingly manhandled McCoy until he was lying back on the bed.

McCoy blinked up at him. Jim was behaving extraordinarily not Jim-like and it was really starting to freak him out. What he actually managed to say aloud, instead, was even less elegant than that.

“You’re…weird.”

Jim, leaning over to pull the blankets up to his shoulders, quirked an eyebrow.

“In a good way?”

McCoy made a move that technically could count as a shrug.

“I think so.”

“Okay,” Jim shrugged too, sitting back down in his chair. “I’m good with it, then.”

McCoy was forced to put a ridiculous amount of work into staying awake then and it must have shown on his face because Jim smiled at him.

“Go to sleep, Bones,” he said. “It’s okay.”

So he did, because it was.

* * *

 

 

Bones had an awesome face.

It could be angry and irritated and indulgent and kind, all at once, at any one given moment. It prevented him from being anything but whole-heartedly honest and Jim hoped he never would take that for granted.

When he’d been sick past coherency, completely out of his mind and unable to even recognize him, Jim had been able to know exactly what Bones couldn’t say. He’d been able to know a full minute before when Bones had been about to puke, he’d known when he’d been too hot for the blankets or when he had needed them to add some more. They were simpatico, in total sync even with Bones’ fever at 103, and Jim couldn’t help but be impressed.

So, what all of that meant, really, was that Jim knew he was fucked the moment he walked through the Medbay doors.

Bones looked pissed.

Really pissed.

Like level 8 pissed.

He was hunched over in the bed in a way that Jim knew meant he was tired, but too stubborn to sleep; his body kept upright only by his own pointless conviction. And his arms were crossed and his nose was all scrunched up and he was glaring as menacingly as he could manage (the high-pitched wheeze he let out every time he breathed in kind of negated it, though Jim felt it was best not to mention that). His eyes turned sharply to Jim as soon as he put one foot through the door.

 “Fuck you, Jim.”

It was so quintessentially Bones that Jim kind of wanted to cry. The three days he’d gone without Bones awake and angry _and there_ had been a fucking nightmare. It was just oddly reassuring to see that no matter how bad he must be feeling, Bones could still be Bones. So Jim had never been so happy to be sworn at so angrily, yet he still kept his face from smiling. That would be a quick way to piss Bones off further. Instead, he tried to look thoughtful as he sat down in the chair beside Bones’ bed.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Bones sniffled and wheezed and looked generally miserable as he crossed his arms.

“No.”

Jim pulled out the jell-o cup from his pocket.

“Not even for green jell-o?”

Bones glared at the opposite wall.

“I hate green jell-o,” he growled. “Second of all, I can’t eat solid food.”

Jim propped his feet up on the bed, across Bones’ and popped open the jell-o. “I know, Christine told me you lost soup privileges after you ruined her uniform this morning when you puked on her.”

Bones, professional that he is, didn’t even bother to look embarrassed.

“Well they shouldn’t have served soup for breakfast. It’s ridiculous. I hate this place. And I haven’t seen anyone the last two hours. I could be dead, Jim. I could have asphyxiated on my own vomit and be dead. You could serve your goddamn green jell-o at my funeral _because I’d be dead._ ”

Jim chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“I saw Christine and Dr. Toll today at lunch,” he said evenly. “And I gave them the afternoon off. I’d thought I’d be your doctor for the day. I thought that would be something we’d try out.”

“Jim,” Bones said immediately, letting out disappointment and anxiety in just the name. “You can’t just do that! What if there’s an accident? What if another crewman needs help? And I was only half-joking about asphyxiating; do you even know CPR?”

 Jim waited until he was sure Bones was finished.

And then winked at him.

75% of the times Jim winked at him, Bones got irrationally pissed. But it was the 15% that resulted in a smile that always made him take the shot.

And just like that, he watched Bones’ angry frown slowly, regretfully, melt into a smirk. Jim beamed.

“But for reals, I gave them the day off,” he said, barely missing a beat. “I’m to call them if anyone walks through that door or if you start coughing too bad. So don’t do that. They deserve a break for saving your life and all.”

“I save everyone else’s life,” Bones grumbled, still refusing to look at Jim. “All the time. I don’t get a break.”

“Well, yeahhhhh. That’s because I like you more than everyone else, so they get a bigger ‘thank you’ for saving your sorry ass.”

That was the truth of it, honestly. Bones happened to be his favorite person and so a little bit more appreciation had gone into his life being saved. Jim was selfish like that. He liked being bored with Bones and fighting with Bones and winking at Bones and being _Just Jim and Bones_ on Tuesday nights. Christine and Toll had saved _Bones’_ life. They deserved more than just a couple hours off. They needed 16 different service awards and a fucking wing of the academy named after each of them for being the goddamn heroes that they were.

Bones gave a very, very, very exasperated eye-roll before coughing wetly. Jim winced. That sound was _the worst_ and he’d had to hear it constantly the last week. It was hard for him to accept that Bones wasn’t better and it must be eating away at Bones too. Bones was a patient person by nature, but he couldn’t stand leaving a problem alone. It pissed him off. It sat with him and made him anxious and restless until he fixed it and made it right. He was just selfish like that. This time the problem was Bones and, try as he might, there wasn’t much he could do about fixing it. His surgeon’s hands, no matter how impatient, couldn’t do shit about Cytherian Fever.  Jim had talked to Christine and Toll not a half an hour ago. Bones had at least another 3 days in Medbay and then another week on non-negotiable sick leave in his quarters until he could even think about coming back to work.  

Bones finished coughing and fell back against the pillows with a shaky sigh. He kept his eyes shut tight as he breathed in and out slowly, trying to keep his body in check. He looked absolutely exhausted and Jim had to reassure himself that it would be entirely irrational to call Dr. Toll in right now. Cytherian Fever kinda took a lot of you and Jim knew that. Bones had lost an incredibly amount of weight and color the last week, he slept the majority of the day, sometimes got lost in the middle of conversations, and could barely manage to make his voice loud enough for you to hear him whine about all of it. Jim stared at the freckles on Bones’ nose for a minute.

“You okay?”

Bones shrugged.

“Who knows,” he sighed. “Sometimes I think I actually might really be dyin’. You’ll never guess who visited me today.”

“Klingons,” Jim didn’t miss a beat. “They were at the front door and wanted to play you their new power ballad to make you feel better.”

Bones blinked.

“What?”

“Nothing. Who?”

“Spock.”

Jim whistled lowly.

“Damn.”

“I know, right? He just sat there and told me a story about his bear. It was very weird.”

“Like…his bear or _his bear_?”

“He didn’t talk to me about his dick, Jim. Jesus Christ.”

“That’s not I meant!”

(It was)

“Mhmmm. Whatever.”

Bones was picking at the thread of his blanket. See, everyone has a thing. A tell. A twitch. A clue. A subconscious little symptom of something they think they can get away with. Bones had his hands. Bones was an anxious person by nature but he was also an incredibly internalized person. And he is very, very good at it. Sometimes, though, he kept that worry or fear so fucking buried, even Bones didn’t know it was there. Then it manifest in his hands. They’d get twitchy and anxious and he’d start pulling labels off beer bottles or tugging on the sleeves of his uniform and just generally being a very stressful human person for Jim to look at.

Objectively, Jim knew that probably would never make sense if he tried to explain it to someone. But to him, it was so obvious. Bones face gave away everything he was consciously feeling, but his hands gave away what he unconsciously retained. So yeah, they were being really good at being Just Jim and Bones right now, solid and steady, but there was something weighing on Bones’ anxious little heart.

Jim cleared his throat.

“You okay?” he repeated.

Bones looked up from the blanket he was unsubtly trying to subtly pick apart.

“Yeah, fine,” he said. “Why?”

 “You’re doing the thing again,” Jim gestured at the blanket. “You’re fidgeting and it makes me want to smother you.”

Bones raised an eyebrow.

“In, like, a protective way. Smother you like an over-bearing mother tiger.”

Bones raised both eyebrows.

“Whatever. You know what I mean. It makes me feel incredibly worried about you, even more than I already am. Which is saying a fuck ton, when you actually think about it. I mean, Cytherian Fever? What the fuck is up with that? What even—where do I—I mean just—just fuck all that, you know?” Jim snapped. “ _Fuck_ this week, Bonesy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bones snapped reflexively, before eyeing Jim critically for a moment. Like he was a puzzle or one of Bones’ “problems”.

“Are _you_ okay?” he finally asked, after an uncommonly awkward minute.

 “Yeah,” Jim rubbed the back of his neck, incredibly self-aware. He looked at the wall over Bones’ head instead of actually looking at him because he was a _goddamn gutless coward_.  “I’m just not used to this. You’re not supposed to be in Medbay. Well, you are. But in a general sense of the word. Not like _here_ here. You’re not supposed to make me worry. I’m not responsible for that. Look at me. Look how shitty I am at this.”

He took a deep breath as he finally looked back down at Bones, running his hands along his thighs to try and get it together. Then he paused.

Bones was smiling at him. As in, not a frown. As in, a smile Jim would describe as ridiculous and fond and _weird as shit._

“What?” he snapped. “What is that for?”

None of what he had just spit out had been intended to make Bones look at him like that. That wasn’t even close to his best work. He hadn’t even got to wink or lean suggestively against a flat surface. What the fuck.

“This is new,” he said. “You worrying. It’s...”

“Weird?” Jim remembered from earlier.

“Yeah.”

Jim nodded slowly as he met Bones’ eye, not entirely sure what was happening anymore. Except that it was weird, apparently.

“Well…don’t get used to it,” he pointed out. “I don’t want to have to do it a lot. I don’t…want to have to worry. About you. Ever.”

That earned him an eye-roll that was _classic_ Bones and definitely not weird, a mix of annoyance and affection in one little move.

He eyed Bones carefully, watching as his head dipped slightly.

“Bones, go to sleep.”

Bones blinked up at him.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Bones.”

“No, really. I’m fine. You came to visit me and be weird. It’s the least I could do to be awake for that.”

“ _Bones._ ”

“ _Jim_.”

Jim folded his arms, dropping his head back completely against his chair.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said. “As soon as you go to sleep, I’m taking a nap. I’m beat. Being your doctor _totally blows_.”

“I’m going to sleep now, Jim.”

“I’m serious. You’re awful. Just the worst. You know how many times you’ve puked on me? Eight, Bones. Eight times. It’s very annoying.”

“I didn’t mean it, I don’t think.”

“You’re a shitty liar but it’s alright, I guess. Go to sleep. Don’t puke on me anymore. Don’t cough on me. Don’t even breathe on me.”

“You’re an ass when you worry,” Bones mumbled into his pillow.

“Well, just remember you did this to me. You’re tearing this family apart, Leonard.”

“Shh. Sleeping.”

Jim looked around the empty Medbay.

“You told me I had pretty eyes, by the way,” he said. “Just thought you should know.”

Bones reached a hand out and patted Jim’s ankle drunkenly.

“And I caught you holding my hand. So we’re even. Now _go to sleep_.”

Jim smiled and closed his eyes.

“Night, Bones.”

 


	8. Not a Brawler

“Do you think she’s smiling at me?”

Now, you’d think being friends with Jim for close to a year now would have gifted McCoy a fairly reliable ability to recognize “famous last words” when he heard them; prime past examples of this included “What’s the worst that could happen?”, “No, I don’t think the pie tastes weird”, “We could totally jump that if we needed to!”, and “I’m sure this probably won’t come up, but just in case, you should know that I’m not allowed in the state of Idaho.”

But, no. His common sense still seemed to have a blind spot wherever Jim was concerned. So there he was, blissfully unware he had just heard some “famous last words” in the making.

 “Who?”

“The girl in the black dress.”

McCoy looked up from his drink, squinting to the other end of the bar. He recognized her instantly and had to try very very very hard not to laugh.

* * *

 

_“Wait,” Sulu asked. “Why would you laugh?”_

_McCoy shook his head, glancing at Jim out of the corner of his eye; Jim, whose smile was slowly dropping as he began to remember why it was they didn’t tell this story often. But it was Friday morning. Anything goes at Friday morning breakfasts with the crew, they’d established that long ago._

_McCoy looked back across the table at Sulu._

_“Oh, you’ll see.”_

* * *

She was leaning against the far corner of the bar and she was smiling at Jim. And McCoy. And every other person.

But Jim didn’t need to know that.

“You know, I think she is,” McCoy said evenly. “You should probably go talk to her.”

Jim looked away from her and back at McCoy. He was only partly drunk, for all that it mattered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” McCoy smiled.

Jim smiled back, quickly hoping off his stool as he gave McCoy an extremely cocky salute.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

And then he was gone, stumbling through the bar over to the girl and McCoy turned back to his PADD.

* * *

 

_“PADD?”_

_“Well, yeah,” McCoy said, setting his coffee down. “I had a midterm the next day.”_

_“And went to Mike’s bar instead of studying?” Uhura said slowly. Sulu and Chekov shared a look._

_“I went to Mike’s because Jim went to Mike’s and needed adult supervision,” he explained._

_Jim folded his arms, but didn’t say anything._

* * *

 

He flipped through a few lecture slides on Orion copper deficiencies. Jim could drag him out to the bar all he wanted. Whatever. It’s not like McCoy would expect anything different. But McCoy was going to study while he was there. He wasn’t Jim; Jim was probably going to ace his ethics test tomorrow without even trying. Because he was a perfect asshole like that.

* * *

 

_“It wasn’t ethics, it was cartography,” Jim muttered miserably._

_“Oh right, cartography. He had his cartography midterm the next day, but there he was: not studying, at Mike’s, talking to Stella.”_

_“The girl in the black dress?”_

_“Yeah, Stella is her name. But Jim didn’t know that then. So I’m sittin’, going through my notes, when Mike shows up with another drink…”_

* * *

 

On the other side of the counter, Mike shuffled over. He slid another club soda next to McCoy’s elbow, staring across the bar at Jim and Stella with a frown.

“Isn’t that…”

“Yep,” McCoy said absently.

“Does Jim know she…”

“Nope.”

“And you’re not going to…”

“I would, but then he’d never learn.”

Mike stared at the two for another second before shrugging.

“Alright,” he said, walking away.

McCoy smiled.

He liked Mike. He didn’t feel the need to care, which worked out great for McCoy. He also was one of the few people in the entirety of San Francisco to actually call him “Leonard” and McCoy appreciated that. It was refreshing to be reminded of who he was. Especially when he was stuck in classes he shouldn’t have to take, relearning things he’d known for years.

* * *

 

_“See, that’s what I don’t get,” Jim cut in again. “Why were you studying? Why were you always studying, if you knew it all already? I don’t get it. Like that one time, when we were at the laundromat and-”_

_McCoy cut him off with a laugh._

_“Nice try, Jim. I’m still telling this story. Wait your turn.”_

_Jim sighed._

_“Anyways,” McCoy said. “I’m sittin’ there, studying, and I can hear Jim’s laugh from across the bar. You know, that really high pitched one he gets when he laughs at his own jokes?”_

_Spock nodded._

_“And then I hear glass breaking…”_

* * *

 

Across the bar, a glass shattered.

McCoy looked up sharply, naturally focusing on Jim because that’s what the whole “adult supervision” part of his job description called for.

“Jesus _Christ._ ”

A very large, very bald, very angry gentleman had Jim by the back of his neck, while another, even larger, even balder, even angrier gentleman was pointing a lot. Jim said something and gestured at Stella wildly. Her expression went from terrified to outraged and by the time McCoy had scrambled out of his seat, she’d slapped him across the face. As she stormed off, the angry men got…angrier, it seemed, and reacted by slamming Jim up against the counter. McCoy pushed roughly through the crowd that had turned to stare, just as the first guy raised a fist. Without even taking a second to process _what the fuck_ he was doing, McCoy ran up to the guy, throwing his arms wide and tackling him to the hardwood right as he clipped Jim in the jaw.

They hit the ground hard and McCoy blinked slowly. He snapped out of it with a yelp as two angry fists hauled him to his feet.

“Who the hell are you?” the guy yelled, entirely too close for comfort. McCoy looked away from the guy, at Jim, who was sitting dazedly on the floor where he had slid as soon as he’d been released. He met McCoy’s eye and grinned.

“Does it even matter?” McCoy sighed, throwing up an elbow and hitting him square in the nose. Jim had jumped up at the same time, surprising the second man, who had been staring at McCoy and his friend like he wanted to jump in.

With a yell, the guy dropped McCoy as his hands went up to cradle his face. McCoy didn’t think he’d used enough force to break his nose, but he still felt bad. ///

_“Why do you always do that?” Jim said. “You just set up this beautifully badass story of you rushing in to save the day, and then you have to completely ruin it by feeling bad. I don’t understand.”_

_“It wasn’t that guy’s fault he was in the fight. It was yours. I wanted to apologize to him.”_

_“Until he gave you the concussion?”_

_“Until he gave me the concussion, yeah.”_

* * *

 

McCoy stumbled over to Jim, who had the other man pinned to the ground with a knee to his chest.

“If I fail my midterm, I’m taking one of your kidneys.”

Jim frowned, his lip split, as the guy beneath him struggled.

“That’s a weirdly specific threat,” he said.

“Well, it’s—”

Something smacked the back of his head and everything went black.

* * *

 

_“So Bones just drops, glass going everywhere,” Jim was back in the story, sitting at the edge of his seat as he looked out at the table. “The guy had broken a bottle over his head. And then I’m freaking out because he’s not moving.”_

_“I was only out for like thirty seconds,” McCoy added. “By the time I come to, the guy already has me against the edge of the bar and Jim’s on the ground getting the shit kicked out of him.”_

_“Yeah, I had everything under control until you let yourself get knocked out. I was trying to get to you when the guy rolled and kicked me in the ribs. He broke three of them in one hit.”_

_“He fractured them barely, you drama queen.”_

_“Whatever,” Jim dismissed. “So the guy pins me to the ground and just goes to town. I’m bleeding everywhere; everyone was yelling and then Bones wakes up and starts fighting dirty…”_

* * *

 

McCoy shook his head, trying to see straight. He felt his feet leaving the floor.

“Jim!” he yelped, just before the guy slammed him against the edge of the counter. He gasped, trying to breathe as he blurrily saw the guy raise a fist. He braced himself for the hit that still managed to make his whole body hum and set his teeth on edge. He tried to yell just as the guy hit him again. He felt a molar loosen. The guy was pressed so close to him that his arms where effectively pinned, but his legs were free. Before the guy could him again, McCoy raised a foot up and kicked him between the legs.

It was a cheap shot, but fair in the sense that he still couldn’t see anything clearly, so he hadn’t really been aiming there specially.

The guy dropped to floor and McCoy stumbled away from him. He looked around just as Jim came flying across the floor before landing in a heap at McCoy’s feet. At least, the vague outline he could make out looked like Jim. Regardless, he reached down and pulled him to his feet.

“Not dead?”

“Not dead,” McCoy assured him.

“Good,” Jim said, before they both turned back to their respective angry bald gentleman.

McCoy’s guy stood up straight with a bear-like like snarl before charging at him. McCoy sidestepped him and threw a wild right hook that actually managed to land. The guy rolled with it, though, and swung around, catching McCoy’s arm and twisting it behind his back. Using McCoy’s own weight against him, the guy shoved him to the ground. McCoy didn’t have time to react as the guy grinned down at him, raising a leg.

* * *

 

_“So I see that, right, and I’m like ‘ohshitohshitohshit!’” Jim said. “The guy I was fighting is on the ground, I think I had dislocated his shoulder or something, so I just jump in.”_

_“Yeah, he came out of nowhere and…”_

* * *

 

Jim came out of nowhere and tackled the man into the crowd surrounding them and McCoy blinked up at the ceiling, wiping the blood off his face with his sleeve.

“Do I really have to call the police, Leonard?”

McCoy rolled his eyes until he could see Mike standing above him, shaking his head. McCoy held out a hand.

“No, I can handle it,” he groaned as Mike pulled him to his feet. “You really couldn’t have brought that out sooner?”

He nodded at the bat in Mike’s hand.

“I could have, but then you’d never learn.”

He let McCoy stumble over to Jim, who had the guy pushed against the wall.

“Time to go, Jimmy,” he said, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and pulling him off. Jim tried to push McCoy off, but McCoy held on until they had made it through the doors of the bar and onto the sidewalk.

They were going as fast as they could away from Mike’s, which wasn’t saying much. McCoy still was seeing double and every single inch of him ached. Jim kept stumbling into him as he ran and occasionally would spit blood onto the road.

Finally, they made it back to parking lot of the dorm. Neither of them particularly felt up for the stairs at the moment, so they dropped down to the bus bench. Jim put his hands on his knees as he bent over and breathed deeply, while McCoy flexed his hands and winced when it pulled on the split skin.

It was close to 2 in the morning and everything was quiet.

Everyone on campus was either studying or sleeping, so it left Jim and McCoy entirely alone to soak up the fact that they were still relatively intact. It was, if McCoy was to be honest, quite a nice moment.

Then Jim started laughing.

He laughed and laughed, great, hysterical noises as he dropped his head against the back of the bench. McCoy leaned back too, kind of losing all motivation to remain upright as Jim continued to giggle like the child he was.

“Holy shit, Bones,” he said. “ _Holy shit_.”

“I know.”

Jim reached over and pulled a chunk of glass from McCoy’s hair.

“That was awesome,” he marveled. “You are awesome. We’re awesome.”

“I think I have a concussion,” McCoy mumbled absently, swatting Jim’s hand away.

“But you had fun, didn’t you, Boneeesssssssssss,” Jim dragged out with a smirk. McCoy punched him in the arm.

“You’re bleeding,” he said angrily. “A lot. And I’m bleeding. A lot. We need to get back upstairs so I can get my medkit.”

“I think we should just stay here,” Jim sighed, closing his eyes. “That seems like a good idea.”

McCoy wanted to protest but he kinda couldn’t argue with that logic. Not moving _did_ sound like a good idea. He folded his arms.

“You…you gotta wake me up if I fall asleep,” he said weakly. “I think I have a concussion.”

Jim’s head dropped onto his shoulder.

“Okay, but you have to wake me up first.”

“I…okay. I will.”

“Okay,” Jim repeated. “Sounds good.”

* * *

 

“So neither of us woke each other up,” McCoy said, shaking his head. “We woke up when the city bus showed up the next morning.”

“And we scare the shit out of everyone waiting for the bus because we both just jump up at the noise,” Jim added. “There was a thirty second delay where we just looked at each other before realizing we were going to be late for the midterms.”

“We just booked it,” McCoy said, throwing his arm wide. “But we still have blood coverin’ everything. Jim’s ribs are cracked, I’ve got a concussion, we’ve got matching black eyes, we’re bruised like you wouldn’t imagine and we are sprintin’ through the campus like jack rabbits on fire.”

“Then we split up,” Jim cuts in. “Bones heads to Sterry and I jolt through the door of my lab in Boone with 30 seconds to spare.”

“Our professors both look at us like we are _fucking insane_ ,” McCoy stresses. “But you know what?”

“What?” Chekov asked excitedly, having followed the whole story from the edge of his seat.

“Bones got a 98 on his test and I got a 99,” Jim grinned.

“I would have gotten a hundred if I had been in my right mind,” McCoy protested. “But whatever. So we finish our exams and meet back up at the dorm. I patched us up the best I could and then we went for pancakes at a diner down the road.”

“So, back to your question, Sulu,” Jim said, smiling as he twisted his fork through the rest of his breakfast. “ _Those_ were the best pancakes I ever had in my life. I’ve had some good pancakes before, but they were not even close to those.”

“Yeah,” McCoy sighed, nodding slowly as he leaned back in his chair. “We’ve even been back to the same diner. Those were once-in-a-lifetime pancakes.”

They lapsed into wistful silence.

Except for Sulu, who slammed his hand on the table.

“Am I the only one who wants to know who the girl was?” he asked as he looked around the table.

McCoy grinned.

“Go on, Captain,” he said, nudging Jim with his elbow. “Tell’em.”

Jim folded his arms and gave McCoy a desperate glare.

“She was…an escort,” Jim mumbled, dropping his eyes to his plate.

“ _She was a prostitute_ ,” McCoy corrected quickly.

Their reactions had been just as McCoy had suspected:

Sulu and Uhura grinned.

Chekov went red.

Spock frowned.

And McCoy just laughed.

“But I swear I didn’t know!” Jim said.

“You…you just thought she liked you?” Sulu said.

Jim glared at him.

Uhura reached out and patted his arm with a sympathetic smile.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, Captain,” she said, barely keeping the laughter out of her voice. Jim jerked his arm out her reach and used it to punch McCoy right in the stomach.

“You just love telling that story, don’t you?” he snapped.

“What was I supposed to say?” McCoy shot back. He gestured at Sulu. “The man sits down and says _‘hey, what are the best pancakes you have ever had?_ ’ and you think I wasn’t going to tell that story?”

Jim kicked back his chair as he glared around the table.

“No more stupid questions before 9 am,” he snapped. “And no one gets to ask Bones anymore questions ever again.”

“‘Anymore questions ever again,’” McCoy smirked. “Really, Jim? Please, tell us how you plan on issuing that as a formal order.”

Jim grabbed his plate.

“I don’t know. But I will,” he said. “Good day, _Leonard_.”

McCoy gave a mock salute.

“James,” he drawled.

Jim clenched his jaw as he stalked away from the table, leaving McCoy to chuckle into his coffee and the other four to stare after their captain.

There was an awkward silence.

“Uhhh,” Chekov said quietly. “I like my pancakes with jam.”

McCoy’s smile dropped.

“That’s disgusting, kid.”

 


	9. Not Claustrophobic

Spock and small spaces.

Spock and small spaces _in space_.

Spock and small spaces in space for _an extended period of time_.

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose as the turbolift lights flickered before going out completely.

“Spock to Bridge,” he heard Spock say calmly into the comm system next to the door. “Spock to Bridge. There appears to be some sort of malfunction with the operation of—”

“We’re stuck,” McCoy cut in loudly. “In the turbolift. And would like to get the hell out.”

They waited a few seconds before being greeted with static.

“That’s just great. _This_ is just great,” McCoy muttered darkly, surveying their cramped space. To put it lightly, he’d never…really…been all that…good in…smaller places. Or any places, when you really thought about it. That was just a general thing. But small spaces really did him in.

All he’d wanted to do was go back to his quarters. That was it. He was a simple man. He wanted to go to his quarters, shower, maybe read a little bit and then go to bed.

See? Simple.

The ride was going to take less than 10 seconds. So he didn’t really think much of it when he walked in and Spock was standing there like the ghost of logic’s past.

“Doctor,” he had greeted.

“Spock,” McCoy had tipped his head.

And that should have been it. But it wasn’t, because even simple men can be unlucky. The doors had closed innocently, the ride even began innocently, but then the whole thing went sideways (maybe literally, he had no idea what witchcraft went into the turbolift). The floor had jerked to a stop, sending the two of them stumbling against the walls. Just after McCoy had felt it was safe to move, the floor had shifted again, accompanied by a wheezing grind, before coming to stop. And now here they were. _Stuck._

“Dr. McCoy, why are you on the floor?”

McCoy glared up at Spock.

“No reason,” he snapped.

Full disclosure, there was a reason and that reason was that he didn’t want to have to explain to Scotty that he’d thrown up in the turbolift. He kept his fists clenched against the edge of his knees as he continued his defiant stare down with Spock.

Spock turned back to the communicator.

“Spock to Bridge,” he tried again.

More static, followed by more nothing, followed by McCoy’s stomach dropping even further.

Someone would register that they were stuck, right? This ship had a million and one sensors and alarms for _everything_ , surely they would have one that pinged politely every time two senior officers get stuck in an 8x8 trap. But what if they didn’t? What if they didn’t find them until McCoy didn’t show up at work tomorrow morning? Or, worse, what if there was no one left to find them? What if the ship was being attacked by Klingons? What if they were in a black hole? No, wait, McCoy would know if they were in a black hole.

But what if he didn’t?

He swallowed thickly and drew his knees up closer.

“Spock to Bridge. I repeat, Spock to Bridge. Spock to Bridge. Spock to Bridge. I repeat, Spock to Bridge.”

Well that sure as fuck wasn’t helping.

“Spock to Bridge.”

McCoy slowly (shakily) got to his feet, keeping a firm hand against the wall as he did so. Feeling a moderate amount of security that he wasn’t going to puke, he walked over to where Spock was standing.

“For the love of God, please stop,” McCoy snapped. He pushed his arm under Spock’s until he could hit the comm button himself.

“McCoy to Bridge.”

He waited.

“McCoy to Bridge.”

When he was met with nothing but static, he raised an eyebrow at Spock.

“See? It’s not helping. The thing is busted.”

He smacked the whole system roughly.

“That as well will not help anything,” Spock told him.

“Yeah, but it makes me feel better,” McCoy growled hitting it again. There was another burst of static. He turned to head back to the perceived safety of his corner.

 But then…

“B..n-s?”

He looked up at Spock before pushing the comm button.

“Jim?”

“Bones…s…at…you?”

“Yeah, Jim. Can you hear me?”

There was a loud, muffled whisper, then static, then nothing.

“Jim?” he tried again, trying not to sound too terrified. He hit the box again. “Dammit.”

Annoyed, he slid down the wall until he was seated on the cold metal floor. He looked up at Spock.

“Well, get comfortable,” he said.

He closed his eyes, hoping that if he couldn’t see the small space he was stuck in, he could squash the panic that had begun to bubble in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like Spock, he didn’t like small spaces, he didn’t like being stuck, and he really didn’t like space. All his least favorite things, wrapped up pretty and delivered unexpectedly.

It was also quiet.

The ship was loud, just as a general principle. Both in the metaphorical sense and the literal, it was always so loud. Even his quarters had a faint hum at all times, as did his office and his bathroom, and basically anywhere else you would assume it would be quiet. The way he saw it, it was a just a subtle way of reminding him at all times they weren’t on earth, in case he ever happened to forget.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tighter.

A dozen different scenarios played out in his head. _The crew killed by Klingons bursting through the front door. McCoy and Spock dead, suffocated when the lift’s oxygen stores quit. Jim, dead in some fool hearted attempt to rescue them. Spock dead, because McCoy strangled him._ _McCoy dead, killed when the lift fell completely_. He shook his head. He really didn’t want to die here.

He jumped up, no longer able to sit still.

Pacing was good. Pacing meant he wasn’t completely stuck. Pacing meant there was a least some pitiful level of control he had left.

What if that hadn’t been Jim’s voice? What if he had just imagined it, a weird hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen?

“Are you alright?”

He blinked a few times before Spock came into focus, standing as far away from McCoy as possible. He looked so utterly relaxed, McCoy wanted to hit him.

“It’s my day off tomorrow,” he bit out, not quite sure why that was suddenly relevant.

“That is not an answer.”

“Well it’s the one you’re getting,” he said. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was being an ass because that was easier than being scared.  Spock still looked up at him.

“I’m okay, Spock. Just let it go,” he sighed.

Spock looked like he wanted to frown, but said nothing. He finally turned away, folding his legs gracefully as he sat down on the floor.

McCoy went back to his nervous breakdown in peace.

It was too hot. The space was too small. Everything was too everything, which wasn’t helping. He focused in on the floor pattern, putting all his energy on that. The floor was steady, for now. It wasn’t moving and neither was he.

“If you are trying to make a point, I do not understand what it is.”

He looked over his shoulder at Spock, who was still seated calmly against the wall like they weren’t about to suffocate or be crushed to death if this thing collapsed.

“What?”

“You lied to me,” Spock said evenly. “You are not fine, that is clear. So I assume you are trying to convince me out of some misplaced sense of emotion. But I do not know which one.”

That was why Spock was the worst. He didn’t do subtle. He just did Spock. And that included occasionally displaying that special sort of ignorance that only came from those of higher intelligence.

“Sound logic, Spock,” McCoy tipped his head. “That's reassuring, at least.”

“Is that what you need? Reassurance?”

“What? No! I just… need a minute,” McCoy stuttered, trying to mask his anxiety with an elevated level of drama.  He turned away from Spock and rested his forehead against the wall. The walls weren’t moving closer, it wasn’t getting harder to breath, he knew, objectively, that it was all in his head. But he also couldn’t get himself to believe it.

Once, at the academy, he’d managed to lock himself up in one of student labs. He’d forgotten to let security know he’d be in late, and they’d locked the doors. The lab was bigger than the lift, but not by much, and small spaces were small spaces in all forms. He’d freaked out. He’d banged on the door and shouted until his hands were raw and his voice had cracked. In all fairness, that may have been a little bit of an overreaction. But at the time it had seemed completely justified. After an hour, a security guard had shown up, dragged along by (surprise, surprise) Jim, who come to the building to look for McCoy’s sorry ass. _It was 3:30 in the morning and you weren’t at the apartment, I thought you were dead!_ Jim explained in a rush, before McCoy had pushed past the two men just in time to puke on the hideous plant in the corner.

Jim weirdly enough, had never mentioned it since. 

“What is your favorite color?”

McCoy frowned as he opened his eyes, still keeping his back to Spock.

“If _you’re_ trying to make a point, then I don’t understand what it is.”

In the pressurized silence of the lift, he practically heard Spock’s back straighten coldly.

“I was…attempting to make small talk. That is a normal, reassuring thing humans do, is it not?”

McCoy tried not to, but he laughed, honest and surprised.

“Yeah, I guess. It doesn’t seem right when you do it, though.”

Spock didn’t say anything and McCoy stopped smiling, feeling bad almost instantly. He must be scaring the guy enough to cause him to resort to such drastic actions as small talk.

He pushed off of the wall, making sure his legs weren’t going to give out before he slowly walked over to where Spock sat.

“It’s yellow,” he sighed, dropping resignedly to the floor beside the Vulcan. “I like yellow.”

Spock looked over at him and nodded.

“Now you ask me something of equal candor.”

Well, gee, what a treat.

“What…is your favorite food?” he decided on after a moment.

“Plomeek soup, a Vulcan dish made of plomeeks, onions, carrots, and squash.”

McCoy made a face.

“Do they even serve that on the ship?”

Spock nodded, looking slightly less apathetic.

“The Captain arranged it. With Vulcan being destroyed, plomeeks are not easy to come by, but, still, the commissary offers it every third Tuesday.”

 “That’s Jim for ya,” McCoy shook his head. He stretched out his legs on the floor. “Okay, your turn.”

Spock fell silent for a whole minute, his head tilting in earnest curiosity.

“Why do you,” he paused, turning to face McCoy fully now. “Why do you always order tomatoes on your salad, when you very clearly do not like them? It…frustrates me. Every time we have eaten together, you pick them out before you eat it, when you could just ask for no tomatoes.”

 McCoy smiled.

“Aw hell, now you’ve ruined it. You got too personal,” he chided. “You’re supposed to build up to big questions.”

“Oh.”

He looked honestly distraught.

“It’s alright,” McCoy laughed. “I’m just joking, Spock. Relax.”

Spock nodded, looking anything but relaxed. McCoy gave him another look before smiling lightly.

 “Jim likes tomatoes,” he shrugged. Spock looked like he wanted to say something, so McCoy didn’t let him.

“How did you meet Nyota?”

And that caught the Vulcan off guard. He narrowed his eyes at McCoy as he frowned.

“She was my teaching assistant.”

_Wait, what?_

“You…you were sleeping with your TA?” he sputtered. “You. Spock. Going against the rules.”

Spock looked faintly amused, which McCoy figured might actually be more surprising than his half-assed rebellion against Academy rules. They weren’t exactly rules. They were…morality clauses. And Spock, the righteous man of all righteous men, had broken them.

“I was not _sleeping_ with Lieutenant Uhura,” he said stiffly. “I was courting her.”

With that, McCoy _really_ lost it. He slapped a hand on his knee as he laughed and laughed. The sound hummed off the walls of the lift.

“’Courting,’” he repeated, shaking his head. Spock could sure as hell turn a phrase “Please don’t ever change.”

“I…okay.”

McCoy wiped a hand to try and snap out of it. This wasn’t how he talked to Spock.

“I do not think you should change either.”

McCoy turned slowly. That was possibly the most earnest, roundabout compliment he had ever received and despite the fact that it was said with Spock’s level of dismissiveness didn’t lessen that fact. They were getting too deep here. So he figured it was a good time to complain.

“Do you think they are close to getting us out of here?”

Not that this wasn’t just a hoot and a half, but there were a lot of things McCoy would rather be doing than being stuck in here. For example, anything.

“Possibly. Or they could also not even fully realize we are still inside.”

See, this was why he gave Spock such a hard time. He remembered now.

“Okay,” McCoy said instead. “Best gift you’ve ever received?”

“A glass chess board for my 8th birthday. The most difficult class you took at the Academy?”

“Pilot’s certification. Yours?”

“The course on Federation History all cadets must take their first year. I found it tedious.”

“Jim slept through a whole semester of the class and still managed to get an A.”

“Impressive.”

“Ain’t it just,” McCoy sighed.

There was a brief pause after that, a half a second companionable stretch that was interrupted by the lift groaning ominously. It jerked once, in a light warning, before dropping a few meters.

McCoy suddenly recalled what it was about the lift he didn’t much care for.

Everything hit him at once, the panic, the urge to puke, the inability to see straight. He closed his eyes tight. Again, he really, really, really didn’t want the whole ship to know he’d panicked after 20 minutes of being stuck in the turbolift. He dropped his head between his knees.

 _One_ , he counted as he breathed in. _Two…Three…Four…_

After he got 78, he felt steady enough to sit up right.

He refused to meet Spock’s eyes, even if he could see the Vulcan blatantly staring.

“Have you always been claustrophobic?” Spock finally asked.

McCoy begrudgingly turned towards him.

“Yeah,” he growled.

He didn’t really want Spock to know that. McCoy knew pretty much all the details of everyone on the ship—their medical histories, their STDs, childhood pets, family at home, and so on. As their doctor, he knew everything. A whole ship’s worth of secrets. So, by default, that excluded him from having to share any of his. Call it a perk of the job.

Call it self-defense. 

“It’s stupid, really,” he said aloud. “I’m in space for cryin’ out loud. The biggest place you can be.”

Distantly, the lift was groaning again and McCoy braced himself. Beside him, Spock gracefully got to his feet. He looked back down at McCoy.

“Space is not as big as you like to think,” he said coolly. “Also, it may interest you to know that they have almost succeeded in getting the doors open.”

McCoy looked at the door hopefully.

“Really?”

Spock nodded, tilting his head slightly.

“That noise,” he said, listening to the barely audible clanking that echoed around them. “That’s the turbolift outer doors being breached.”

“What? Are you serious?” he jumped up. He heard more cliché clanking, getting louder and louder. Then voices.

“Well hot damn.”

“Indeed.”

He looked at Spock again. The Vulcan wasn’t smiling, but he still managed to look faintly pleased. It was the only version of happy Spock did.

He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable for a whole new reason.

“You know, Spock, what happens in the broken down turbolift _stays_ in the broken down turbolift, right?”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and nodded.

“For the record,” he said, raising his voice to be heard of the noise of the power tools. “I do not think your fear is stupid.”

McCoy folded his arms casually.

“For the record,” he said. “I find it really disturbing that you watch me eat.”

In the end, the door slid open with its usually alertness, which both annoyed and relieved McCoy. He hadn’t really expected grand flourish reveal, but he’d hoped.

“ _Bones_.”

Jim stood at the other side, looking half torn to hell. He was covered in grease and missing a chunk of his shirt because that was thing that he did frequently, for some reason. And he was looking at McCoy with wide-eyed relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, quickly reaching in and yanking both Spock and McCoy out of the lift. He gave them a once over. Twice over. Three over.

McCoy slowly pried Jim’s hand of his wrist.

“We’re fine,” he said. 

Jim gave one last honest look before grinning.

“Yeah you are,” he said with wink.

McCoy punched him in the arm as he passed, striding out with as much indifference as he had left.

 


	10. Not a Criminal

“Sir?”

Jim jerked awake, his head slipping off his hand as he looked around wildly. “Huh?”

“I can take you back now,” the officer held the ring of keys.

“Ah. Okay. Great,” Jim said. He jumped up from the chair. He felt uncommonly uncomfortable as he looked around the empty lobby. “Sounds good.”

The other man _mmmhmm’ed_ as he gave Jim a second look. His name was…it was…something. Officer something of the Something Something PD. He had told it to Jim at least three times in the last hour, repeating it like he somehow knew Jim was struggling to retain it. In Jim’s defense, it was four in the morning and he still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some surrealist hallucination brought on by the mountain air. Regardless of if it was, Jim still followed Officer Something down the hall. The whole place was dark. Of course it was. As previously noted, it was four in the morning. People weren’t intended to need light at four in the morning. They were intended to be sleeping.

Until an hour ago, Jim had been sleeping.

It had been nice; he totally recommended it.

“We were going to wait til morning to call you,” the officer said. “But the angry one kept yelling, so…”

The angry one. _Bones._

Jim nodded absently, eyeing the door they’d stopped in front of. It was old. In fact, the whole place was old, like a monument from the past left to fend for itself. Jim was from Iowa, but this place managed to outdo even that. Kudos for them.

“But they’re alright, right?”

The officer laughed darkly, swinging his keys around his finger.

“Well,” he said idly. “The skinny guy got a little banged up when he fell.”

Skinny guy. _Spock_.

“The giggling idiot broke his hand when he punched the car window. The little fella can’t hold his liquor, so he’s a little jumpy. The woman is terrifying, so I didn’t actually get a good look at her.”

The giggling idiot. _Scotty._

The little fella. _Chekov._

The woman. _Uhura._

“And then Lieutenant Sulu is alright. Filthy as all holy hell, but alright.”

Jim frowned. “You know Sulu?”

The officer looked over his shoulder as he unlocked the door.

“Nah. But he kept yelling his name and rank at us.”

Jim bit the inside of his lip, shooting for a look of stony annoyance. That’s what was expected, right? That’s what Bones usually did and he was the only authority Jim had on this sort of thing.

“What about the angry one?”

“Well…he’s angry,” the officer said blunty. “We kept the handcuffs on him, just to be safe. He’s wilier than he looks, I’ll give ‘em that.”

“And the other officer…”

“Isn’t pressing charges,” the officer assured him. “Frankly Mr. Kirk, we all just got a hoot out of the whole thing.”

Jim sighed. “I appreciate that. And the angry one will too, once he calms down. He’s not usually like this, I swear.”

“Mmmhmmm,” the officer repeated as he pulled the door open. “You wanna few minutes alone before I let them out?”

_Oh God. Act cool. Don’t smile. You’re supposed to be angry._

“Yeah,” Jim nodded thoughtfully. “Better read them the riot act and all that, you know?”

The officer nodded and wordlessly gestured him through the open door. Jim shook his hand and walked in.

Now, on a good day, this was his team. _The tops._ Starfleet’s best and brightest and Jim’s personal, hand-picked favorites. They had deserved a vacation. The _Enterprise_ needed a minor refit, so why not give the whole crew a week off? They were in Nebraska for fuck’s sake.

_What trouble could they possible get up to in Nebraska?_ Jim had thought. _They’ll be fine. I can spend the day away. They can handle 16 hours without me._

There was only one cell (because it was _Nebraska_ ) and one half-ass light flickered in front of it. Jim took a minute to really soak the experience in. This was new. He hadn’t expected new in Nebraska.

He leaned back on the heels of shoes and dropped his hands into his pocket, to better take in the big picture.

Because what a picture it was.

The officer had warned him of the mud, but he hadn’t done it justice. They were all covered in it. Uhura had it matted in her hair, Scotty was wearing a mask of it, and Bones was dripping it off the hems of his pants. Chekov and Sulu had it up to their necks. Every part of Spock was soaked in it, except for his shirt, which was very clearly a gift from someone at the police station. It was four sizes too big for his small frame. It was also bright orange and said “Kansas City Slew Rollers” across the front.

Jim didn’t know what a slew roller was, but he sure as hell knew his first officer was not one.

Scotty’s hand was wrapped in a clean bandage that stuck out against the mud. He kept it cradled against his chest as he slept against the corner. He wasn’t giggling anymore.

Sulu was also on the floor, leaning against the wall away from the group.

Spock was on the end of the bench, his arms folded over his new shirt and Uhura’s head on his shoulder. Chekov was lying next to her, folded awkwardly to keep everything on the bench. He was snoring quietly.

And then there was Bones.

The angry one.

He was at the other end of the bench. Like Officer Something had said, he was still handcuffed, so he kept his hands dropped to his lap. His shirt was ripped up one of the sleeves, showing even more mud underneath. His head dipped down to his chest as he slept.

Jim hated to wake them up, but _goddamn_ was he excited.

There had been a time when Jim had been a criminal. He had accepted that long ago. It had just been part of who he was. So he liked to get into trouble. _Big deal._ But he’d moved on. The last time he’d been arrested was at the academy and that hadn’t been trouble, so much as just one giant misunderstanding. Bones had picked him up, because that’s what Bones does, and he had been angry. Beyond angry. It had been terrifying and humiliating to listen to the lecture Bones had given him before he would let the officer release him. Nobody gave the riot act like Bones did, that was for damn sure. So Jim knew he could never compete with that, objectively. He should be angry, but he wasn’t, because this was the greatest thing that could have ever happened in Nebraska.

He cleared his throat and whistled the same boatswain whistle they all knew so instinctively.

Chekov yelped as he dropped off the bench. Uhura’s head slipped off Spock’s shoulder. Scotty rubbed at his eyes. Bones face pinched but he kept his eyes closed.

“Well, well, well,” Jim braced himself on the bars of the cell as he looked at them all. “How the mighty fall.”

They all landed at various point on the drunk scale, ranging from Spock who looked completely unfazed to Sulu, who was still passed out. Bones shook his head a few times, squinting at Jim until he could make him out fully.

“Jim,” he said, pushing off the bench and stumbling over to the bars. He tripped a little over Scotty but plowed on ahead. “ _Jim._ How was your trip?”

It was the strangest thing, being on the other side of this conversation. Usually, it’s Jim making the desperate, wild grasps to try and change the topic. He hoped to God his were a little more convincing than Bones’.

“It’s cute that you think that’ll actually work,” he said, shaking his head. Bones barely missed a beat before raising an eyebrow.

“Aw, do you really think I’m cute?” he smirked. A challenge if Jim ever heard one. He leaned in closer and gave a purposefully unsubtle leer.

“When you aren’t covered in mud and handcuffed, yeah,” he said. “You can be pretty cute.”

“What? I woulda figured you for a dirty handcuff kind of guy.”

“Oh, well, I’m always up for something ne-”

“I have to pee,” Scotty whined from the floor, cutting Jim off mid-innuendo. His good arm was blocking his eyes from the light. “And my hand is broken. Please…could ya not?”

Jim and Bones both took a step back. Bones cleared his throat.

“Scotty’s just mad because Uhura locked him in a car with a chicken,” he said defensively.

“What?” Uhura snapped. She pushed off of the wall, as terrifying as the officer had said. “ _I did not_. That was Sulu and Chekov! I just caught the chicken for them.”

“That makes you equal parts guilty, Nyota,” Spock muttered quietly. “The chicken was the main reason for concern.”

Uhura waved a hand to shush him. She then pointed a finger at McCoy.

“He’s the one who told me that Scotty was afraid of chickens! And he found the car in the shed. If Scotty hadn’t broken that window, the police would never had been involved. This is his fault.”

“Me? _Hell no._ Spock was the one who said we should go to the farm!”

Spock looked patiently up at Jim.

“Captain, I merely pointed out the barn as a focal point of interest,” he said. “I did not intend for Mr. Scott to break a car window nor did I wish to fall into the well.”

“Yeah, but you did and who had to pull you out? _Me._ And look where that got me,” Bones shook the handcuffs. “Some thanks I get.”

“I did not ask you to assault the police officer, Doctor,” Spock said. “You took that initiative on your own.”

Bones rolled his eyes and turned back to Jim.

“They wouldn’t let me help,” he explained. “I thought he had broken his neck.”

“I told you I was fine more than three times before you decided to _rescue_ me. If my neck had been broken, how would I have accomplished that?”

“I don’t know! But I’m startin’ to wish I had left you down there,” Bones snapped.

“I was already making progress without your assistance, I could have made it unaided,” he bristled uncomfortably. “And if we really are set on placing blame, it was Mr. Scott’s idea to go to the bar.”

“Of course it was,” Scotty muttered miserably from the floor. “What else were we going to do?”

“We could have not trespassed,” Spock said quietly. “Dr. McCoy could have not tackled that officer. Mr. Chekov could have not gotten stuck in the mud.”

“I lost a shoe, Captain,” Chekov said, looking up at Jim from the floor.

“We’ll get you a new one,” Jim promised. “As soon as we get back.”

“Speaking of that, _I still have to pee_ ,” Scotty called loudly. “And my hand is still broken.”

“Your fear of chickens is irrational and you deserve it,” Uhura said coolly.

“Okay, that’s probably enough…” Jim sighed.

“Your boyfriend fell in a well, you have no right to talk,” Bones turned to her.

“Guys…”

“You punched a police officer,” Uhura pointed out. “Talk about irrational.”

 “No, Scotty’s fear of chickens is irrational,” Bones said.

“I already said that!”

“Well I said it again!”

“I have to pee!”

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone turned to look at Jim. “Just…enough, okay? You guys want out of here or not?”

“Christ, yes. I have to pee,” Scotty said, heaving himself up so he could stumble towards the door.

Bones and Uhura glared at each other another moment before breaking off.

“One day. I’m gone one day and this is what happens,” Jim told them all as headed to go find the officer. He opened the door and popped his head out.

“I think we’re all good to go now, Officer,” he said, forcing his face into a frown for appearance’s sake.

Officer Something jumped up from his seat and pushed past Jim, pulling out his ring of keys. The officer cocked an eyebrow at the assembled band of criminals.

“You guys learn your lesson?”

They all nodded, except for Sulu, who was still asleep in the corner. Oh yeah. Jim had totally forgotten about him. The officer mmmmhmmm’ed one last time before opening the cell door. Scotty jumped out first, followed by Uhura and Spock standing shoulder to shoulder. Chekov bent down to drag Sulu to the door. The lieutenant blinked over to Jim.

“Captain?” he slurred.

“Lieutenant,” Jim nodded. “You okay?”

“I…don’t know...?”

“Okay,” Jim smiled, patting the man on the shoulder as he passed.

Bones brought up the rear, looking guilty as he watched the officer undo the cuffs.

“I didn’t mean to hit that officer,” he blurted out. “Well I did…but I don’t usually. I’m a doctor.”

The officer raised an eyebrow, but turned back to talk directly to Jim.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

Jim nodded quickly, pulling Bones through the door by his wrist. “You can count on that, officer. He really is a doctor. He doesn’t do this kind of stuff. Look at him, he can’t handle it.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” the officer said, pocketing the keys. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

Bones walked entirely too close to him as they left the station, trailing behind the others. They were in Nebraska, so they were stuck walking the entire way back to hotel. This time, with no pit stops at barns with wells and chickens and cars.

Bones tilted his head until he could see the moon and he sighed. He smiled when he caught Jim looking at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jim shrugged, but Bones continued to stare. “Just…hell of a story you guys got now.”

“Oh yeah, I can’t wait to call home to my mother about this one.”

Jim laughed, watching the bright color of Spock’s shirt as he walked.

“Well, I liked it. I think this sort of thing is good for you.”

“Physically assaulting a police officer is good for me? Are you insane? Have you been drinking?”

“Not as much as you guys, apparently.  Chekov can’t even walk straight.”

“That’s because he’s missing a shoe, Jim.”

“Oh, right,” Jim remembered.

Bones’ shoulder was digging into his now and it was distracting. But he didn’t want to say anything. They slipped into silence for a few minutes, listening to Chekov catching Sulu up on what had happened since he passed out. Jim definitely hadn’t taken Sulu as a lightweight, so he was kind of excited about what he could do with that information. Same with Scotty’s fear of chickens. He couldn’t believe Bones had never told him that. That is definitely something you tell _to everyone you possibly can._ Still, locking him in the car with one was drastic and a little bit twisted, so Jim was quickly changing his mind about messing with Sulu in the future.

“Is Scotty’s hand going to be alright?”

“He’s fine. It might not even be broken. The police station didn’t have a med kit, can you believe that? It’s like the goddamn Spanish Inquisition down here.”

“Sometimes I worry about where you learned your history.”

“Well it’s true! I mean, Scotty could have bled out on the floor and they wouldn’t have been able to do a thing about it.”

“You know ambulances are a thing, right?”

“And what if Spock had really broken his neck? What was their plan? _Just leave him there?_ Of course I had to go get him! You think I wanted you to come back from your trip to learn that your first officer was lying dead in a bottom of a well? Of all the shoddy, rundown, backwoods places I have been to, this really takes the cake.”

Jim stopped in the middle of the street. “Are you done?”

Bones folded his arms.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good,” Jim started up again.

“I just don’t think it’s very appropriate to let Spock die in a well, is all. That doesn’t make me the bad guy here.”

Jim sighed and stopped again. They could there all night if he didn’t doing something.

“And he wasn’t even thankful! Not one bit. After he got us in to that whole mess, he had the indecency to—”

“Do you wanna get pancakes?”

The angry expression fell off Bones’ face ridiculously fast.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hey, guys,” Jim called to the rest. “Pancakes?”


	11. Not Going on an Adventure

_“Pssst…Bones…”_

McCoy turned away from the noise, trying to ignore it with every fiber of his being.

“Bones, it’s important…”

He pulled his pillow over his head pointedly. Not today, mother fucker. Not today.

“Bonnnnesssss…”

He made an unpleasant noise as something poked him in the ribs. Well, fuck it. He was good and awake now, he might as well commit to it. He dragged the pillow away from his face to squint out into the dark. Jim was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him and McCoy was so utterly unsurprised how at home he looked.

“Alright,” he groaned, rubbing at his eyes as he glared up at the ceiling. “I’m up. You win, asshole. Though I reserve the right to fall back asleep if whatever you have to tell me ain’t interesting enough.”

Without a word, Jim slid a PADD gently across the sheets until it nudged McCoy’s elbow. He actually looked regretful, which was possiblymaybeslightly endearing enough that McCoy could forgive him a little bit. He picked up the PADD with both hands, squinting at the bright screen as he lifted it a few inches from his face.

“What exactly am I looking at here?”

“Oh, I am so glad you asked,” Jim said. He then took McCoy’s annoyed sigh as invitation to get more comfortable. He shifted until he was successfully lying next to McCoy and hogging the pillow, staring up at the PADD with him.

“Read outs from the scans we did on the planet below,” he pointed to the charts and numbers ticking by. “Atmosphere comp, terrain stats, radioactive clouds, blah, blah, blah. The usual”

“Okay?” McCoy asked, not sensing the deeper problem. “And you broke in here to show me this because…?”

Jim dropped the PADD unto his chest as he turned to him. He was entirely too close but McCoy didn’t really want to say anything about it. “First of all, I didn’t break in here. I just walked in. _That’s completely different._  Second of all, I just needed an excuse to wake you up.”

He paused for a half a moment, before opening his eyes and looking at McCoy like he was surprised to be in bed with him.

“Oh, hey, Bones,” he said. “Since you’re up already, you wanna go on an adventure?”

McCoy didn’t hesitate to pull the sheets completely over his head, blocking out Jim’s stupid question and his stupid happy adorable face.

“No.”

 “You didn’t even really think about it!”

“Don’t need to. I’m not going. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“They’re automatic doors…I don’t even think that’s possible…”

“It’s a _metaphor_ , Jim. Anyone could see that it was a polite way of sayin’ _get out_.”

“Come on, Bones. We need you.”

“No, you don’t,” McCoy muttered. “Mission parameters state nothing about dragging me along. It doesn’t make sense for the CMO to go on adventures. Or the Captain, either, for that matter. Do you ever think about that? They put the chair up there for a reason. We’re meant to stay here. With the ship.”

“Maybe I like taking you places. It’s in the mission statement, Bones. Strange new worlds. To boldly go…”

“You can split infinitives without me, Jim.”

“It’s not the same! You know that. Besides, you’re going to love it. If you don’t…if you don’t, I’ll give you the next three missions off.”

McCoy frowned.

“Wait, really?”

“Really really,” Jim said. “If you go through the whole exploration with me and Spock—”

“With you _and Spock?_ ”

“—with me and Spock, without smiling or laughing or doing that twinkling thing with your eyes, I will write you three official _get out of fun_ coupons.”

McCoy paused, already calculating defense strategies in his head. There was a catch. There had to be. Wait for it…

“But,” Jim continued. “If you have fun even a little bit, you can’t complain for the next two missions I put you on.”

Damn, Jim was good. That was a steep price that McCoy didn’t know if he wanted to pay yet. How great could the planet be? _Spock. Radioactive clouds_. That sounded miserable. Which was great. He could do this, no sweat. He slowly lowered the sheet from his face.

“What twinkling thing with my eyes?”

Jim frowned.

“You know,” he waved his hand inefficiently. “The thing you do when you get all happy. Your eyes do a thing.”

“A _twinkling_ thing?”

“Yes, Bones, a twinkling thing! Jesus, it’s not important right now.”

(But McCoy could see him blushing like it kind of was)

“Just…are you going or not?”

McCoy folded his arms, holding out with dignity for at least thirty seconds.

“Yeah, I’m going,” he sighed, throwing back the blankets.

 


	12. Not Taking a Nap

_Or: the three times Jim caught Bones napping, despite his protests that he never does._

 

Jim leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

Bones wasn’t dead, though that had been Jim’s immediate reaction. He was just sleeping, weirdly enough.  He was…napping. Bones didn’t nap. Napping was half-ass sleeping and Bones never did anything by halves; all or nothing, angry or indifferent, twinkling-eyed happy or entirely unconcerned. It was how he rolled. Napping was just so entirely unprecedented; of course Jim assumed Bones was dead when he saw him facedown at a cafeteria table.

His scrubs were also covered in blood, which probably hadn’t helped either.

It was only after a minor heart attack that Jim had noticed the blood was actually purple. It was anyone’s guess what it actually was, so that was fun. It was 4:30, the cafeteria was deserted, and Bones was napping.

What an odd day.

 Jim titled his head and smiled as he stared at Bones.

“Captain?”

Jim sat up straight, dropping the smile instantly. Captains didn’t stare _fondly_ at sleeping CMOs. He cleared his throat.

“Ah, Scotty,” he said, looking up to see the man standing a few feet away, eyeing the pair of them suspiciously. “Uh, this is…”

He looked back to Bones before shrugging.

“…exactly what it looks like,” he finished.

Scotty looked even more confused

“He’s fine,” Jim assured him. “I called down to the Medbay to see if they were missing him. One of the nurses told me I should probably just let him sleep. Apparently, Lieutenant Sing’s surgery went on for a few hours.”

“Oh. Is she alright now?” Scotty whispered.

Jim nodded.

“She’s in recovery now, should be back on her feet in a couple days. Oh and you don’t have to whisper. I yelled his name earlier and he didn’t even twitch. He’s completely out.”

Scotty landmine tiptoed over to the table before gently pulling out the chair next to Jim.

“How long have you been sitting here?” he still whispered.

Jim checked the chronometer on the wall.

“About twenty minutes,” he shrugged. “I felt bad just leaving him.”

“Is that blood?”

“Good question,” Jim said simply. “I’ll let you know.”

Scotty nodded weakly.

“Did you need something?” Jim asked.

Scotty shook his head. “I did. But I can’t remember what it was.”

“Oh.”

They both went back to watching Bones in silence, listening to him snore quietly.

“What are you guys doing?”

Jim and Scotty both jumped at the voice behind them. Uhura was there with her arms crossed, looking unsettled. Jim rolled his eyes.

“Like this is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever walked in on me doing.”

Uhura just continued to stare so Jim thought he’d better explain.

“I found him like this and felt weird leaving him here,” he admitted.

Uhura only made a restrained, vaguely assenting noise in the back of her throat before handing him a PADD.

“I need you to sign this,” she said. “Also, dinner starts in five minutes. You should probably wake him up.”

Jim quickly added his signature to the files and she stepped away. Scotty stood up as soon as she was out the door.

“I got to get back to work. Captain,” he tipped his head towards Jim and followed Uhura.

Jim turned back to napping Bones.

“Bones?”

He poked him in the shoulder.

“Bones. You gotta wake up.”

Bones only jumped a little at the yell. He lifted his head and frowned around the room. He blinked heavily before focusing on Jim.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Why is everyone making it seem so weird?” Jim threw up his arms.

Bones rubbed a hand against his eye.

“It’s a little weird, Jim,” he yawned. Jim watched his eyes start to slip shut again.

“Hey!” Jim snapped his fingers. “Don’t do that. Stay with me.”

Bones jerked awake again.

“I’m up,” he said. He shook his head a few times. “What time is it?”

“Almost 1700.”

Bones nodded like he wasn’t actually listening.

“Sounds good,” he said, confirming it. He yawned again.

“How long was Sing’s surgery?”

“Four hours,” Bones shrugged. “Five hours. I don’t remember. In fact, I’m not even sure m’not still dreamin.”

He squinted at Jim.

“Are you real?”

“I’m real, Bones,” Jim laughed. “I promise.”

“That’s exactly what a hallucination would say.”

“Fair enough.”

Bones stared him suspiciously for another second before apparently letting it slide.

“What time is it?”

“Almost 1700,” Jim repeated patiently.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

Jim sighed.

“This is why you don’t nap. I get it now.”

Bones seemed to wake up at that. He glared at Jim.

“I don’t nap!”

“You just—okay. Yep. You’re right. You don’t nap.”

“Damn right,” Bones mumbled, pushing his chair back. “I should probably actually go do my job now.”

Except he looked entirely too out of it for Jim to allow him to practice medicine.

“No way,” Jim said, stopping him with a hand on his wrist. “I already got the nurses to cover. You’re going to bed.”

“But—”

“No.”

“I need to—”

“Nope.”

“Jim! I really—”

“ _Leonard_.”

Bones threw up his hands.

“Alright! I get it. Jesus, you are annoying,” he grumbled. “You gonna tuck me in too?”

Jim shrugged.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Bones rolled his eyes.

////////////////

Bones was missing.

And Jim wasn’t worried.

Well, he was. But no one was there to witness it and he wasn’t telling.

As soon as he walked into Bones’ quarters and found them devoid of their sickly occupant, he’d very calmly began to freak out. Bones hadn’t left the room in three days. Jim knew this because Bones had made sure to mumble the exact duration of his confinement cryptically under his breath whenever Jim came to visit. He also knew this because Christine and Toll had entrusted him to make sure Bones didn’t attempt breakout; which was actually a fucking terrible thing to put Jim in charge of when you thought about it. He was a Starfleet Captain, sure. He was a commanding, dynamic leader in all the ways that count. But, God help him, Bones was the exception. Specifically, the stupidly endearing freckles Bones had across his nose were his weakness. They were…ugh. Just ugh. He never stood a chance against them. They zapped all of Jim’s good sense and willpower and he knew he’d never develop immunity to them. If Jim hadn’t known better, he’d think Bones had done it on purpose. Just to fuck with him.

_Oh that would be so like him._

Jim made a mental note to be angry at him as soon as he finished being terrified.

“Computer, locate Dr. McCoy.”

The terminal he’d stopped at went completely black for a second before showing the layout of the entire ship. Jim scanned it before locating the annoyingly helpful red dot in one of the rec rooms.

“Dammit, Bones,” Jim growled, turning on his heel and stalking towards the rec room.

Bones didn’t like being cooped up. Jim got that. _Of course_ Jim got that. Bones hated doing things, but he hated being told he wasn’t allowed to do things even more; he loved rules, but only when they applied to Jim; he hated the rec room when he was healthy, but when he wasn’t supposed to be in there, he apparently now couldn’t be without it. He was one incongruity after another and it made Jim very annoyed.

Cytherian Fever wasn’t a joke. Bones had only been released from constant Medbay supervision after he could finally hold down solid food (watery broth and unsalted crackers weren’t exactly what Jim would constitute as food but, hey, Bones hadn’t thrown up on him in 4 whole days, so he wasn’t going to say anything). He still slept 20 hours out of the day and didn’t breathe in the conventionally correct way, so they were still concerned. Bones wasn’t allowed to leave the room, let alone be up and walking around by himself. It was like he was trying to give Jim a heart attack or make him betray his aloof exterior to the rest of the crew. Well the joke was on Bones because Jim was off duty now. He didn’t have to be aloof. He could do whatever he wanted, including drag Bones all the way through the ship and back into his quarters.

After Jim made sure he was okay, though.

He walked into the rec room to find it peacefully quiet. It was empty, apart from the group at the back table. Uhura and Chekov were glaring at each other across a glass chess set while Sulu stared at the board with a frown. He continued his direct, non-aloof, stride towards them.

“Hey, have you guys seen—”

He stopped short as they all wordlessly pointed to the couch in the corner.

“Oh.”

Bones was passed out across it, a blanket tucked in around that didn’t quiet reach his slippers. Jim could hear his nasally, demon-like breathing from here but it still didn’t ruin the moment.

Jim smiled.

He sat down at the empty chair across from Sulu, tilting his head.

“He’s okay, right?”

Chekov and Uhura went back to their game while Sulu nodded quickly.

“Chekov and I stopped by his room to see if he wanted to play a few games. He said yes, but only if we let him leave his room. We didn’t really get it, but we came here anyways,” he whispered.

Leave it to Bones to have fun just to spite Jim.

“And then…you…covered him in a blanket?” Jim asked skeptically. Sulu didn’t look like a man who slept with a blanket. He had that fine-level of control that didn’t allow for such luxuries.

“No, that was me,” Uhura said, annoyed. She smirked. “I figured you’d be down here any minute and freak out if we left him without a blanket. God forbid.”

“What do you—what does that—no! I would not have freaked out!” Jim whispered frantically. “I don’t freak out. Bones’ freckles aren’t that important.”

The other three shared a condescending look that was pure Bones and Jim was starting to get worried about how much time they spent with him. He looked back at Bones with a sigh. Uhura was totally right but that was beside the point. And that blanket did look warm.

“Do you want to play next game, Captain?” Chekov asked quietly, giving Jim that typical wide-eyed, hopeful look. One of the hardest parts of Jim’s job as captain was those times he had to say no to that face. _No, Chekov, we cannot put a Reserve Particle Field Injector into the ensign quarters. No, you’re not getting a Transference Accelerator either. Or a Confinement Buffer. Stop filling out the request forms, you are backlogging the systems._

“I’d love to, Ensign,” he smiled. It wasn’t like he was staying simply so he could look after Bones. He was hanging out with his crew. While also looking after Bones.

Chekov beamed brightly, before moving another piece on the board and whispering “Checkmate!” to Uhura.

She swore loudly in a language none of them recognized and they all shushed her. Jim glanced anxiously over to Bones, who just pulled the blanket more securely around his shoulders and sighed. Jim quickly traded places with Uhura as Sulu took Chekov’s seat.

Jim glanced amusedly across from him.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Sulu?” he asked. Sulu smirked.

“I think so, sir.”

Jim was three moves away from beating his Helmsman when Bones suddenly coughed, startling himself awake and scaring the shit out of the other four. As soon as Jim saw that the coughing wasn’t stopping, he was pushing his chair back and rushing over, helping Bones sit up and keeping an arm around him. Bones coughed wetly into his shoulder.

“That’s gross, Bones.”

Finally, he stopped with a tired sigh, turning his head to look up at Jim. He looked at him for a solid minute before his brain seemed to catch up.

“Jim?”

“Yeah,” Jim smiled gently. “Are you okay?”

Bones’ cheeks were bright, despite how pale he was. He processed Jim’s question and, after a couple seconds, shook his head.

“You want to go back to your room?”

Bones nodded stiffly.

“Do you want to eat something first?”

A quick shake of his head.

“Okay,” Jim said quietly, reaching around to help him stand up from the couch. “Let’s go.”

Jim looked up at the trio at the table and smiled apologetically.

“Rain check, Mr. Sulu.”

“Of course, Captain,” the lieutenant replied with a smile.

Jim nudged Bones with his elbow.

“You gonna say goodbye to them, Bone?”

Bones squinted at the table and raised a hand half-heartedly. They all waved back in unison. Jim smiled again before following Bones as he shuffled out the door with an unfocused stare at the floor. They walked in silence all the ways to Bones’ quarters, Jim keeping a hand on Bones’ elbow because (as they had been reminded several times the last week) if you didn’t stay alert at all times when Bones was vertical, he’d pass out and be on the floor before you could even attempt to catch him. He still had Uhura’s blanket on his back and it trailed pathetically behind him on the ground. Jim quietly entered the code for Bones’ room and they walked inside.

Bones flopped on the bed without a pause, pulling that pile of blankets over top of him as well while Jim followed dutifully.

“You’re an asshole, you know. You shouldn’t have left the room.”

“I know,” Bones mumbled drunkenly. “I did it to be mean.”

Jim found that both very annoying and incredibly endearing, something of course only Bones would manage. “Well it worked.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Jim smiled as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“Yes,” he lied. “Very. Do you want some water?”

“Yeah. There’s a half-empty class on the desk,” Bones mumbled, pulling the blankets up higher.

Jim walked across the room and picked up the boring, Starfleet-issued plastic cup.

“Don’t you mean half-full?” Jim grinned excitedly.

“Get out.”

////////////////

Christine was having a shitty day.

Actually, everyone in Medbay was having a shitty day. Half the staff was down with the worst outbreak of Lavarine Christine had ever seen, the other half was working double shifts to pick up the extra slack, and Dr. McCoy was so composedly calm that it was really freaking her out. She watched him offer a reassuring smile to an ensign from Security and felt a shiver in her spine.

He’d been working nonstop for 46 hours. He should, by all formalities, be dead. He should be yelling and cursing and doing southern monologues for every patient that shuffled through the door. Instead, there he was. Being nice.

She should probably do something.

Christine watched him finish _comforting_ another three patients before finally figuring it out. A complacent, calm Dr. McCoy meant that he probably had reached a new level of tired that transcended all personality programming. Every time he stopped walking, he leaned against something. It was very nearly subtle. It was like he was trying not to fall over. When he wasn’t holding a PADD or handling hyposprays, his hands were rubbing his eyes like a child. A child with an impressive beard who looked like they hadn’t showered in three days.

Finally, Dr. McCoy ambled (proper, commanding Dr. McCoy never ambled. Nor did he mosey, stroll, or promenade) over to her desk, rubbing at his eyes again trying to smile warmly at her.

She shook her head roughly.

“You’re stressing me out,” she told him before he could even sit down. “You’re going to combust if you keep going like this.”

The doctor merely shrugged, thus further proving her case for his insanity.

“What other choice do we have, Christine?” he sighed. “That damn virus is tearing through this ship and somebody has to do something.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Christine said patiently. “But that doesn’t mean you have to fight every minute of the day.”

McCoy looked at her with a frown.

“Go take a nap,” she told him. “Seriously. Everything is slowing down, we haven’t had a new patient come in all morning, and the only thing left is to let everybody sleep it off. _So for the love of God, go to sleep_.”

She waited until she was sure he was about to shrug off her concern before she pulled out Plan B.

“I’m sure if I called the captain, he would gladly make it a direct order.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, but it lacked any real bite.

Christine only smiled sweetly and shrugged. “There you go.”

“Alright, alright,” McCoy muttered, waving a hand. “I’ll be in bed 2. Wake me the moment anything happens, you hear? I mean, _anything._ Hangnails, hiccups, weird sneezes, whatever.”

“Of course,” Christine replied, already making plans to do literally nothing of the sort. But if it made him feel better, by all means.

McCoy nodded stiffly before shuffling off to the recently vacated bed in the corner. He took another (pleasant) look around the room before dropping weakly on top of the blankets. He pulled the pillow closer, sighed, and didn’t move for two solid hours.

Christine was feeling pretty good about herself after that. She was fully confident in her ability to manage the Medbay, it wasn’t even going to be difficult. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said the only thing left was for everyone to sleep. Lavarine just made you tired. The worst symptom was that you occasionally lost bladder control; which, really, was just par for the course with their job. Bodily fluids didn’t bother her when she was in school and they certainly didn’t bother her in space.

She was checking on the vitals of Yeoman Marks when she saw Jim stride idly through the door. He passed her right by as he made a beeline to the closed door of Dr. McCoy’s office. It was only when he opened the door and found the room empty that he turned back to frown at Christine.

“Bones is—?”

“Passed out drooling on Bed 2,” Christine supplied airily. “And it is in your best interest to leave him alone.”

Jim closed the door with a frown.

“Any idea when he’ll wake up?” he asked. “I kinda needed to talk to him about…something.”

“Jim,” Christine set down her charts to level a firm glare at the captain. “That man is exhausted. He’s ran himself ragged keeping this crew fixed. If I see you wake him up without just cause, I will ask Dr. McCoy if I can handle your next physical. And I assure you, I won’t make them as fun as he does.”

Jim looked…alarmed, to say the least.

“What does that mean?” he whispered.

Christine just raised an eyebrow. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Jim shook his head quickly.

“Okay, then,” Christine said sweetly, gesturing towards the door. “Always nice to see you, Captain.”

She watched his eyes shoot quickly over to Dr. McCoy’s bed once again, before he headed out the door.

46 minutes later, however, he was running right back in. Christine looked up from her tea as he came running up to her.

“It’s important now, I swear!”

She took another drink from nodding towards the bed, giving him the go-ahead to literally wake the sleeping bear.

Jim didn’t hesitate to run over to the edge of Bed 2, closest to where Dr. McCoy had his face buried in the pillow. He crouched down and ran a hand along the sleeping man’s back.

“Bones, wake up,” he whispered. “We have a problem.”

Christine set down her cup, trying not to make it look obvious she was scooting her chair slightly closer to the two to better hear.

“Hmmm?”

Dr. McCoy’s voice was muffled by the pillow, but Christine could see him glaring up at Jim as best he could.

Jim sat back on his heels and looked up at McCoy sadly.

“Promise you won’t hit me.”

Dr. McCoy sat up quickly, his eyes wide.

“Jim, no.”

“ _Promise you won’t hit me_ ,” the captain repeated, avoiding looking at McCoy.

“Dammit,” McCoy growled, throwing the blanket off in one move. “ _Dammit it all to hell, Jim_.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Jim offered uselessly as the doctor pushed past him. McCoy waved an angry hand to shut him up.

“Chapel, get me a hypo full of Nesuren and Geutevoclin. And start a new patient chart for the captain,” McCoy snapped as passed Christine, heading straight for his office. Christine set down her tea gently.

_Dammit, Jim._

Of course the captain couldn’t miss out on the outbreak. He hated being left out of anything. She got up quickly and grabbed the supplies from the medicine cupboard in the corner, feeling incredibly guilty and incredibly annoyed. She walked over to where Jim sat on the edge of bed 2, kicking his feet and looking uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you say anything when you were in here earlier?” she whispered, staring at him in disbelief. He shrugged as he watched her set out the hyposprays on the table.

“I wasn’t sure I actually had it, then...” he stopped, looking away from her quickly. Christine took at a guess at what he wasn’t saying.

“Then it started burning?” she asked. Jim nodded tightly.

“Unbelievable,” Dr. McCoy muttered darkly, coming back around to glare at Jim. “Why the hell didn’t you come down here to get the immunization?”

“I was going to, I swear, I just got busy,” Jim said. McCoy snorted as he threw a gown at Jim.

“Put that on,” he said. Jim looked at him in disbelief.

“Bones, I can’t stay here. I need to get back to the Bridge,” he whined.

“No you don’t,” Dr. McCoy said. “I already called Spock and informed him of your stupidity. You are out for at least the next two days.”

“Bones!”

“I didn’t do this, Jim,” the doctor shrugged, a more natural look of disdain on his face. “This is all on you.”

He stabbed Jim roughly in the neck with both hypos in quick succession.

“Ow.”

“Cry me a river, darlin’,” McCoy muttered darkly, slapping Jim’s hand away from the injection. “Now get dressed.”

McCoy pulled Christine by the elbow, leaving Jim to glare miserably after them.

“That man is an idiot,” Dr. McCoy mumbled as soon as they got back to Christine’s desk. He grabbed the PADD with Jim’s chart on it and punched moodily at the controls. “And this is your fault.”

His tone wasn’t too serious, so Christine didn’t take it personal.

“How do you figure?” she asked, growling right back at him.

“If you hadn’t made me take a nap like I was some child, I would have seen him sooner.”

Christine snorted.

“If I hadn’t made you get some rest, Jim still would have gotten sick because he’s an idiot who can’t take care of himself,” she said. “And then we would have been left even more short-handed when you inevitably collapsed from exhaustion because, contrary to what you seem to think, you aren’t immune to being human.” 

“Whatever.”

 He rolled his eyes and looked over at Jim, who was struggling with the ties on the back of his gown and the corner of his mouth twitched.

He turned back to Christine and stared at her for a solid minute in contemplation before handing her back Jim’s chart.

“Wake me up in a couple hours,” he sighed, waiting for her nod before pulling one of the hardback chairs over to Jim’s bed.

“ _Stop, stop, stop_ ,” he warned, slapping Jim’s hands away from the strings he was fighting with. “Jesus, I can’t leave you alone for two minutes, can I?”

Jim glared as McCoy tied the fabric together.

“There,” he said. He propped his feet on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. “Now be quiet, I’m tryin’ to sleep.”

“Are you sleeping on the job, Dr. McCoy?” Jim narrowed his eyes, leaning back on the pillow.

“Shhh.”

“You’re a terrible CMO. I should report you to your captain.”

McCoy snorted.

“In all honesty, _sir_ , my captain is an idiot. Don’t bother tellin’ him anything. He’ll just ignore it and get himself infected with Lavarine.”

“Wow, you’re right. What an ass.”

“Mmmhmm,” Dr. McCoy sighed.

Christine watched Jim smile at Dr. McCoy for another minute, before he pulled up the blanket and went to sleep.


	13. Not Drunk (Part One)

Jim put his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he leaned against the bar.

“Hey, Mike.”

The impossibly large man inclined his head towards Jim as he continued wiping the counter.

“Jimmy,” he said. The man had refused to listen each and every time Jim tried to tell him that he didn’t really go by that particular nickname. Eventually, Jim had just given up entirely. That was just Mike. He was a nickname kind of guy. He called Jim “Jimmy” and Bones “Leonard”. _(“But that is my name, Jim.” “Shut up, Bones.”)_

“Where’s he at?”

Again, Mike tipped his head, this time towards the far corner of the bar, to the booth that lay just outside the touch of the lights. Jim leaned back on his heels, trying to get a better view. And sure enough, he recognized him. He gave Mike a sad, small smile.

“Thanks,” he said, before making his way over.

The booth was vinyl, or it had been at one point and time. Faded and dirty, it now was a little more dingy maroon. Jim didn’t even kind of want to know what sort of shit had happened in it during the years since it was red. Definitely not thinking about that, he dropped down into the booth and found himself sitting next to Bones. Bones who, on a good day, was the model of what Starfleet’s shiny cadets exemplified. He was also a very good person, who was going to go on to do something great with his life.

But Jim hadn’t seen him since yesterday, and apparently a lot had changed. He hadn’t even looked up when Jim sat down, keeping his eyes, instead, on the half empty glass in front of him.

“Hey,” Jim said quietly. It was awkward. He could feel that instantly. But they usually were so good at not doing awkward. Bones still didn’t try to meet his eye as he answered.

“Hey.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Jim said, but it came out like a question.

“Yep.”

“You’re drinking on a Tuesday?”

“Yep,” Bones repeated, leaning back in his seat and letting his head fall against the wall. “Ya got problem with that?”

Bones was incredibly southern this evening, all dripping vowels and dropped separations. That told Jim that he’d been drinking a lot, which he had already known. Mike told him when he’d called and he was now sitting less than a foot from Bones; not only did he reek _of drunk off his ass_ , he also looked like he’d been crying. Alcohol and Bones’ crying were never anything but a matched set and that was something Jim thought about a lot. He leaned back in the booth and stared at Bones out of the corner of his eye.

“No,” he told him. Bones laughed, way more dark and bitter than laughter was generally preferred.

“You’re a shitty liar, Jim.”

Okay, yeah, that had been a lie. _It was Tuesday_ , of course Jim didn’t like it. But more to the point, he had a problem with the idea of Bones drinking by himself for a reason Jim didn’t know. Bones was a lot of things; doctor, father, ex-husband, son, asshole, exaggerated phobic, stress personified. It was anyone’s guess which of those things would cause him to be here in this booth, drunk.

On a Tuesday.

All Jim wanted to know was how he could fix it—the only problem was none of those things were exactly fixable. He couldn’t make Bones less of a doctor, less paranoid. He couldn’t stop Jocelyn from walking out, and he sure as hell couldn’t make Bones’ father any less dead. But neither could Bones. The first month they had been friends, Jim had decided that the only way to really make Bones okay with that is to make sure he actually went to space; at least then, they would be pretty fucking far away from unsolvable problems.

“I’m not going to talk about it, Jim.”

“Not asking you to.”

Bones lazily opened his eyes to look at Jim.

“You’re not?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To not talk about it with you.”

They were different that way; when Jim _didn’t want to talk about it_ , Bones still made him, because he was a caring asshole like that. Bones missed his calling as a professional interrogator. He didn’t even have to yell or threaten to force Jim to talk—all he had to do was look at him, with that wide and stupidly honest _look_ and all of a sudden Jim’s telling him about the time he was 14 and the governor said the food supply is infected and they—

Okay, no. This was about Bones. Bones, who was sighing a very old-sounding sigh. He was still tensed, like he was getting ready to run.

“I’m not going to talk about it,” he repeated.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“No, but… Jim, I’m serious. Seriously.”

Either Bones was even drunker than Jim had originally assessed, or his reassurance that he wasn’t going to talk about it was a thinly-veiled way of psyching himself up _to talk about it._ See? Bones’ creepy precision at making people talk was even psychosomatic. Jim was sure that, given enough time, Bones would absolutely begin to talk abou—

“It’s Jo’s birthday. She’s seven today and I can’t go see her, Jim.  So…that’s what this is. I don’t want to talk about it.”

For a second, Jim panicked and considered just not saying anything back. Like he said, he couldn’t fix this. But then he remembered that wasn’t how friendship worked and pulled himself together.

“That sucks. Do you want to do shots?”

Because that’s how _their_ friendship worked. Usually.

“No, Jim. I kind of just want to go to bed.”

“Good idea,” Jim said, pushing away from the table and out of the booth. “This place closed twenty minutes ago.”

Bones looked up past Jim, at the completely empty bar, before sliding out of the booth quickly. He stumbled only slightly, and for that Jim admired him.

“Easy, Bones,” he said, keeping a hand on Bones’ wrist as they walked towards the exit. Jim gave Mike a wave before they were completely out the door.

* * *

 

In the morning, Jim sat crossed legged on the bathroom counter as Bones threw up more than Jim had ever seen another human person throw up.

“You’d think for a casual alcoholic, you’d hold your liquor better.”

“Fuck you,” Bones groaned miserably, resting his forehead on his arms. “I deserve this. This is my punishment.”

“ _Punishment_ ,” Jim repeated tightly. “For what?”

“Take your pick: drinking on a school night, missing Tuesday, shrinking your pants in the wash last week—”

“ _I fucking knew it!_ ”

“—embarrassing myself at Mike’s, ruining a marriage, being a shit father for the seventh year in a row. I don’t know…. How about being a fuck-up in general?”

“Bones,” Jim sighed, pinching his nose tightly. “Literally all of those things are so wrong, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Thanks,” Bones said, even though Jim knew he still didn’t get it. Bones complained about everything, but usually kept the self-deprecation at a minimum. He hadn’t said it for Jim to correct him, he said it because he honestly believed it.

“You are not a fuck-up. Well, okay, maybe you are. But that’s alright!”

Bones looked blankly up at him.

“So am I. So are a lot of people. Starfleet is full of fuck-ups, they just don’t put that on the recruiting pamphlets. No need to throw a fit about—oh, hey, Bones? Next year, can I come with you?”

He was hoping if he surprised Bones with the question, he’d be more likely to say yes.

“What?” Bones sighed instead, rubbing at his eyes as if he just couldn’t see the problem.

“Next October 7th. Can I come with you when you go to Mike’s? I mean, if I’m going to go and pick you up anyways, it’d be easier if I was already there, you know?”

“Oh,” Bones closed his eyes again. “Yeah, Jim. ‘Course you can.”

And that fixed it as much as Jim could hope for.

“Great,” he said, then looked around the room for something to break the moment. “Do you want me to make breakfast?”

Bones groaned dramatically again as he grabbed the toilet seat tighter.

“A simple ‘no thanks, I am not a fan of your cooking, Jim’ would have been fine.”

Bones’ voice echoed up to him.

“How about ‘no thanks, go fuck yourself, Jim.’ Does that work?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

 


	14. Not a Father (Part Two)

_3 years and 358 days later…_

“14 15 16 16 19 _no— oh fuck_.”

McCoy rolled his shoulders and grabbed the next bowl from the line. The cortisone paste he was mixing needed exactly 36 drops of water added to it. The problem was, he kept losing count and having to throw the whole bowl out and start again.

He took a deep breath and squeezed the pipette gently.

“1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8…”

A knock on the glass made him lose count again and he flexed his hands to keep from throwing the whole damn bowl against the wall.

It was Jim other the other side of the lab door (of course it was. Who else would it be?) and he grinned and waved with both of his hand when he saw McCoy look up. Which was odd because Jim wasn’t a waving person. And McCoy wasn’t a person to whom people cheerfully waved at, let alone with both hands.

Actually, who the hell waved with both hands _at all_? Something was up and McCoy pushed the safety glasses up onto his head as he debated if he really wanted to deal with something being up today. He watched Jim embarrass himself waving a few more seconds before hitting the switch to unlock the automatic door.

“What’s up, Jim?” McCoy sighed, resigned to it already.

“Nothing.” Jim took a sit on the other side of the table from him and he stared at McCoy with the same smile. His head tilted almost philosophically. “Nothing at all.”

“So you’re here because…?”

“Nothing,” Jim said excitedly. “I’m here because nothing.”

McCoy leaned back in his chair. He’d made a mistake opening the door. He understood that now.

“Can I go back to work then?”

Jim just nodded, his smile now turning a little manic. He folded his arms as he watched McCoy grab a new bowl.

_1 2 3 4 5…_

But McCoy hadn’t been able to concentrate when it had just been him alone in the room, and now Jim was staring at him. He looked utterly enthralled. McCoy set the water down.

“What is that?” he snapped, gesturing at wild arm at Jim. “What is that face you are doing?”

Jim seemed floored by the question.

“It’s just my face.”

“No,” McCoy said. “No. It’s all…weird. _I don’t like it_.”

“Sorry,” Jim shrugged but tilted his head even more. Like he was fascinated by something. And he was still grinning. It made him look homicidal and McCoy was not up for this.

“Jim, I’m kind of busy. Can nothing wait until dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Jim said, pushing back his chair.

And then he winked.

“That was entirely unnecessary. Please get out,” McCoy said, feeling unsettled suddenly. Jim was really freaking him out.

“I’ll just leave you to…being you, you know?” Jim said, grinning at McCoy one last time before heading out the door of the lab he’d walked into less than two minutes ago.

Even though Jim couldn’t see it, McCoy rolled his eyes.

_1 2 3 4 5 6 8 9 7…_

_Dammit._

* * *

 

_Exactly one week later…_

 

Bones had never been the best at reacting to things.

Especially good things. He just never seemed to know what to do with them.

Their first year at the academy, Jim had gotten Bones a sweater for Christmas. Just a completely normal sweater to replace the gray one he wore constantly. Jim had thought it was no big deal.  But apparently it was, because as soon as he opened it, Bones had completely shut down. Full-on error mode, he’d tensed up and stared at the sweater in his hands for 12 silent minutes. Just…stared at it. Yeah, eventually, he snapped out of it and reacted in a more normal, traditionally human way but it still was up there as one of the weirdest things Jim had ever witnessed.

So it was anyone’s guess, really, how the day was going to go.

While Jim could tell himself that there was no way Bones could react negatively, he couldn’t actually make himself believe it. Though Jim’s intentions were nothing but genuine, Bones could still find cause to freak out. It was kind of his thing. Everybody has a thing, and Bones’ just happened to be that he could find anxiety in any situation (see the aforementioned Great Sweater Breakdown of 2255).

Bones didn’t like lying, he didn’t like duplicity, he _did not_ like surprises in the slightest, and it just so happened that Jim had spent the last three days doing nothing but lying for the sake of duplicity in an effort to surprise him. That meant that there was a remarkably good chance Bones would lose his mind if Jim pulled it all off.

Actually, there was no _if_ about it. It was already done. All he had to do was walk into Medbay and hope for the best. He took a deep breath.

“You ready?”

Joanna looked up and nodded firmly.

“Ready,” she smiled. She was missing a tooth right up front but it’d been like that when he picked her up from earth. Would Bones believe that? Maybe, maybe not. _Whatever._ Jim just added it to the giant list of violent reactions he be prepared to get from Bones. He returned her smile to hide how nervous he was.

“After you then, my lady,” he said, gesturing grandly towards the transporter room door. Joanna rolled her eyes ( _naturally_ ) and grabbed Jim’s other hand.

“Hello,” she offered brightly Scotty as they passed by the control desk. Jim managed a faint wave to him before Joanna had completely dragged him out the door.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Yep,” she said confidently. Then, after a pause. “This way?”

“Yeah, keep going,” Jim laughed. “You’ll see a big door.”

“I know!”

Jim had no idea if this was how normal children behaved, or if the devastating sass was just a McCoy thing. The last time Jim had spent time with Joanna, she had been 4 and hadn’t really developed a personality yet. Still, he’d been absolutely smitten from the moment he met her.  She had been quiet and sweet and adorable and Jim had begun to understand why people bothered having children in the first place. Now she was 6 and liked to be the boss of everything and everyone, every minute of every day. Jim had realized this approximately 30 minutes into their 12 hour trip back to the _Enterprise_. This fact didn’t make Jim any less enthralled with the idea of Joanna McCoy, it just added a healthy dose of fear into the mix. It had taken him two and half hours, unfortunately, to realize that it was best to just go with it; let her be the boss all she wanted. So he trailed dutifully behind her as she set out to find Medbay all on her very own.

They passed confused crewmen left and right and Jim just sort of gestured helplessly at the 48 pounds of pure determination leading him around on his own ship, trying to convey a very resigned _well, what can I say_ attitude about it all. Joanna stopped without warning.

“That one?” she asked, pointing at the automatic gray doors of Medbay.

“Yep.”

Joanna nodded confidently to herself before pulling Jim along through the doors.

The place was empty, which actually kind of unsettled Jim. He had been hoping for a lot of witnesses, should Bones’ reaction get weird. Honestly, Jim had no idea what was going to happen now. Bones didn’t like _different_ —Joanna showing up in his office on Tuesday afternoon was definitely _different_.

Christine looked up from the biobed she was resetting with a nervous smile as Joanna marched up to her; Jim understood completely. Joanna kind of had that effect on people.

“Are you Christine?” Joanna asked, sweet as could be. She looked up at Christine with a wide, sincere eyes and a smile that was all Bones. Christine bent down closer to Joanna’s level.

“Yes I am,” she reached out a polite hand. “And are you Joanna?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Joanna saluted.

Christine looked up at Jim.

“Okay, well, that was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” she said seriously.

“Yeah, she does that,” Jim shrugged. “Get used to it. Is he in the office?”

“Yeah, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he went in there to do paperwork, so fair warning,” she said, standing up with her hand on her hip. “But I have a feeling he won’t mind the help.”

“I’m the help!” Joanna giggled suddenly.

“Yeah, kiddo, you’re the help,” Jim smiled. “Are you ready?”

“Why do you keep asking me that? Are you scared?” Joanna asked lightly. “Why are you scared, Jim?”

“I’m not scared!” Jim said, convincing not even himself.

“Why are you scared, Jim?” Christine echoed.

“I’m not,” he lied again. “I’m just excitedthat it’s your birthday.”

_Nice one, Kirk_. Textbook diversion. He’d be an amazing father.

“Me too!” Joanna said, bouncing on her tiny white shoes. “Can we go now, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim laughed. “Let’s go right now.”

Joanna, unlike Bones, didn’t even hesitate to listen to Jim. Jim shared another look with Christine before being impatiently yanked by the hand to follow Joanna. Joanna let go of Jim’s hand as they made it to the door as she quickly ran a hand up and down the front her dress. She looked up at Jim, suddenly unsure.

“Should we knock?” she whispered.

Jim shook his head.

“I think I should go in first,” Jim whispered back. “Then give you a sign for you to come in a few seconds—”

“Jim, why are you whispering outside my door?” Bones voiced echoed from inside the office. Jim went wide eyed.

_Go, go, go!_ Joanna mouthed quickly, pushing him towards the handle. Jim pushed it open and stumbled inside.

“Bones! Uhhhhh, hey,” he managed, spreading both arms across the doorway in order to block Bones’ view. “How are you? How are…things?”

Bones didn’t even look up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the conference for another three days?” he asked, swiping through a report.

“Welllllll,” Jim said, keeping his totally natural pose in the door. “Funny story about that…”

“I’m here to help!”

Joanna jumped beneath Jim’s arms and popped up right in front of Bones’ desk.

To his credit, Bones didn’t pass out. He did have an existential shut down, however, but it was very brief. Thirty seconds, tops. He just stared at Joanna completely blank, then would twitch and stare at Jim, completely blank, and then back again. Skilled in the art of Bones, both Jim and Joanna waited patiently in silence.

Then, apparently ready to be a human person again, he jumped up from his chair.

“Joanna,” he said quietly, dropping down right in front of her in order to hug her tightly. Jim heard Joanna giggle as she squeezed him back and he looked away quickly, lest he betray his cool. James T. Kirk had seen a lot of things in his life, but nothing quite so great as this. Just as he was thinking he should probably just leave before he embarrassed himself, Bones was standing up and hugging him desperately. Then it was Jim’s turn to forget how to be a real person.

“Damn overachiever,” Bones mumbled and Jim had to laugh.

“That’s me,” he managed dumbly, jumping a little as Bones patted him on the back.

“Excuse me, it’s my birthday!”

Bones shook his head as he pulled away from Jim.

“Yeah, it is,” he laughed, picking Joanna up and sitting her on his desk. “So I’m assuming that means we should go get ice cream?”

Joanna nodded enthusiastically. “Yep.”

“Alright then, darlin’,” he said, turning around. “Hop on.”

“Jim likes ice cream too,” Joanna said as she climbed onto Bones’ back. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“It’s true, Bones, I do,” Jim added.

“He has to come with us!”

They both stared at Bones with wide eyes.

“Of course Jim is coming with us, sweetheart,” Bones said with a smile as he looked over at Jim. “He’s going to tell me how he managed to kidnap you and take you on an intergalactic road trip without even telling me.”

_I knew it,_ Jim said to himself. _See,_ _I knew that was coming. He even used the exact same words as I imagined. That’s fucked up._

“Yeah! That was _scary_ ,” Joanna said, entirely not helping the matter. “And really pretty. And there was this really cool explosion.”

Bones stopped walking.

“It was shooting star, I swear to God,” Jim held up his hands.

“Mmmmhmm.”

Jim followed behind them as they left the office. Chapel stood at the nearest bed with her arms folded, looking ridiculously delighted at the sight of them.

“Dr. McCoy,” she greeted.

“Chapel,” Bones smiled. “You’re in charge for a while, okay?”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Joanna and Jim both waved goodbye to her as they headed out of Medbay.

“So Christine has to do whatever you say?” Joanna asked curiously.

“Something like that,” Bones shrugged.

“But then you have to do whatever Jim says?”

“Something like that,” Jim said, before Bones could even open his mouth.

 


	15. Not a Love Doctor

_“Leonard.”_

McCoy jumped as his office door was kicked open. And suddenly, Uhura was standing in front of him with a wild look in her eye.

“Uhhhh…Lieutenant?” he tried, setting his PADD down slowly.

“I have a problem and you are helping me with it,” Uhura said sharply. She slammed the door behind her before dropping into his chair. “Right now.”

“Alright…” McCoy said slowly, already not liking any of what was happening but not stupid enough to try and stop it. Uhura was a communications officer. Words were her weapons and she didn’t use any of them lightly. “What’s up?”

“Spock is an idiot.”

Okay, yeah, never mind. He was absolutely game for that kind of conversation. _Spock is an idiot_ conversations just so happened to be his area of expertise. Ask anybody, they’d tell you.

“And…?”

“I want to hit him because he’s an idiot.”

“Okay, you’re going to have to be more specific with your threats. I can’t help unless I know if I even _should_ be helping.”

“Sorry,” she bit out, very obviously not sorry in the slightest. “Spock is an idiot who doesn’t respect me.”

Only McCoy knew that couldn’t be true. Uhura was a person people respected; that was just a natural fact. Everyone on the ship knew she was one of those rare people that exceeded at being a person. Spock, most of all, would never overlook that.

“How so?”

“You remember that away mission last month?”

McCoy gave her a look. “The one that ended with the entire landing party in Medbay, beat past recognition, only to be saved by my miraculous, divine touch? Yeah, I think I remember something about it. Vaguely.”

“The captain wanted me to go along,” Uhura continued without acknowledgement. “I never get to go on away missions and Spock _knew_ I was excited to go. Then he turns around and convinces Jim to take Frett instead of me! Right at the last minute! Of course I was furious at him and I told him as such. He knew I wanted nothing more than to go, yet I got sidelined. And now every time I try to bring it up to him, he won’t talk about it. But I know he didn’t want me to go because of some misplaced notion that I would get hurt. That I needed to be protected.”

“Was Frett the lieutenant who shattered both femurs or the one who lost the row of teeth?”

“That’s not the point, Leonard!”

McCoy shook his head.

“I know that, Nyota,” he said. Two could play at the first name game, though he wasn’t sure what they were competing for. “The point is that you’re a competent, decorated officer and you want Spock to treat you as such.”

“Yes,” Uhura sighed, apparently relieved. “Exactly. It’s just, why couldn’t I go? I know you hate it, but most normal people like an opportunity to leave the ship.”

“Okay, that was unnecessary but I’ll ignore it,” McCoy said calmly. He frowned at Uhura a moment before shaking his head. “If I tell you something you don’t want to hear, are you going to hit me?”

“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.”

“Fair enough,” McCoy said. “Still, I ain’t going to sugar coat it for ya. Spock didn’t want you on that mission, not because he was worried about you, but because why the hell would they need a communications officer there?”

Uhura growled in the back of her throat, but McCoy held up his hand.

“Uhura, think about it. That wasn’t a diplomatic mission. Hell, it wasn’t even an exploratory one. All they were doing was looking into the planet’s trees, for crying out loud. And tell me what exactly Frett’s specialty is?”

“Botanical engineering,” Uhura mumbled.

“And there’s my point,” McCoy said, leaning back in his chair. “Everyone on this ship knows you are the best at what you do, but the fact remains that you just weren’t needed when they went down. Spock was being logical. It’s kinda what he does.”

Uhura bit her lip, a move so completely unlike her it could only be coming from misplaced reason and desperation.

“Then why wouldn’t he just tell me that?”

“Because he’s an idiot? I don’t know, Uhura. I’m not a love doctor. I don’t want anything to do with anyone’s relationship trouble. I sometimes wish this whole crew was asexual so we could just be done with it. I hate all of your relationships and STDs. The broken hearts and _flirting_. It’s annoying.”

Uhura raised an eyebrow.

“I sent Jim down here with a form to get your signature on it this morning and he was gone over an hour.”

“So?” McCoy snapped. “We…wha—that’s just Jim! You know that that’s just Jim. It wasn’t anything to do with anything.”

Uhura only looked at him with a condescending head tilt.

“Is there anything else you needed, Lieutenant?” he said, folding his arms in a totally non-defensive gesture.

Uhura shook her head.

“No, I think I’m good. Thanks, Dr. McCoy,” she said as she got up to leave.

“Don’t mention it,” McCoy told her. He met her eyes with a narrowed glare. “Seriously, do not tell anyone that I care about love, let alone whatever fucked up version of love you got going on with Spock. That’s a disease I can’t cure, frankly.”

“A whole hour, Leonard. For one signature,” Uhura said breezily as she walked out the door.

McCoy glared around the room at nothing in particular for no reason at all.

* * *

 

Not twenty minutes later, there was a polite knock on his door and Spock walked serenely in.

“Dr. McCoy.”

“No,” McCoy groaned.

Spock paused in the doorway, taking a hesitant step back as he stared blankly at McCoy.

“I’m joking, Spock.”

“Why?”

“Just sit down,” McCoy shook his head darkly.

Spock sat down in his chair, albeit very distrustfully as he stared at McCoy with a frown. After a pause, he shifted his shoulders.

“As I understand it, Doctor,” Spock said. “You had a conversation with Lieutenant Uhura earlier about our...disagreement.”

McCoy shrugged.

“Yeah?” he asked cautiously. “Did I do something wrong?”

Spock shook his head lightly.

“You misunderstand. I am here to thank you, not ask for an apology,” he said. “The last few weeks, Nyota has been…upset with me. When she returned from visiting you earlier, she was noticeably less angry and she expressed regret for the way that she acted. I can only assume that whatever you said to her brought about that change. So, I thank you.”

“I just told her the truth, Spock,” McCoy said. “Nothing more to it than that.”

“The truth?”

McCoy leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah, you know, the truth. About your decision not to take her to that planet. She thought it was you trying to protect her and I told her it was you more likely making the right choice about who should be on the surface of that planet. Frett was more qualified and was the one you needed, not a communications officer.”

Spock inclined his head towards the McCoy.

“Your assumption was correct, Doctor. I of all people know the Lieutenant’s considerable strength as a member of this crew. While she is an integral member, for this particular mission, she was not. I did not wish to tell her this, lest she take insult.”

“Well, Spock, that was your problem,” McCoy said.

Spock frowned.

“I do not catch your meaning.”

“You should have told her right away why it is you didn’t want her to go with you guys. It would have saved a whole hell of a lot of time,” McCoy said brusquely. “Lieutenant Uhura is made of tougher stuff than most of the other people on this ship. She can handle a little honestly when it comes to things like that.”

Spock was silent for a few moments.

“Thank you, again, Dr. McCoy. For talking to Lieutenant Uhura and for the advice,” he said finally, standing up. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“Anytime, Spock,” McCoy said, waving a hand lazily.

Spock nodded and left without a word.

McCoy dropped his head in his hands. _Dammit._ He had literally just said that he wasn’t going to do the love thing and then here was, doing it.

Sometimes he hated this ship.

He went back to the inventory report he was going over for another ten pissy minutes before there was another knock on the door.

Jim popped his head in.

“Lunch?” he said, leaning against the frame.

McCoy tossed the PADD down and smiled.

“Yeah, sounds good.”


	16. Not Puking

**Not Puking**

_This was Spock’s fault._

“It isn’t Spock’s fault!”

_Yes it was._

“No, come on, Bones. It was just an accident.”

_Accident. That was bullshit. This was wholeheartedly that green-blooded fool’s fault. Spock and his experiments. Spock and his science. Spock and his blue shirt. Jesus Christ, that shirt. Their uniforms were the same color, but Spock somehow made his look so much more…pretentious than the rest of the ship’s. They could market it as a new color. Oh, honey, what color are you thinking for little Timmy’s room? Oh, darling, I was thinking we’d try that new color they have at the store: Pretentious Spock Blue, what do you think? It’s perfect, my sugar plum! It’s exactly what a child should be exposed to while growing up. Maybe someday he’ll become a pretentious asshole who has perfect bangs and perfect logic. But will he be annoying? Oh, my pumpkin pie loaf, of course he will be annoying. The most annoying person in the entire galaxy._

“Are you dying?”

“Do I need to get Christine?”

_No!_

“But she could help.”

_Could she? Could anyone?_

“Okay, I won’t get her, you big baby. I know you’d hate to be seen so indisposed, Doctor.”

_Indisposed was a good word. An unnecessarily romanticized word, but, still, a good one. It was just vague enough that he could pretend it was the right word._

“Bones! Will you just…can you open the door?”

_He could. Probably. Maybe? Okay, he wasn’t quite sure he could, actually. He didn’t really want to test it. He was trying to convince himself it was safer with the door closed. He usually wasn’t a fan of locked doors—Jim was though. Except this one, apparently._

“Bones. Bones. Booooonnnnnnnnes.”

_He knows if he doesn’t open the door, Jim will keep at it for hours. McCoy had let him do it once, out of sheer curiosity._

“Please?”

McCoy made a half-hearted jerk of his limbs before slipping farther down the wall. His foot hit the bottom edge of the counter and caused the few things scattered across it to tip off the edge.

“Bones! I am going to _kick this door_ _down_ in the next five seconds if you don’t—”

McCoy rolled his head until he was squinting up at the ceiling.

“Door unlock,” he said as loudly as he could. But the computer heard him. Like it heard everything.

With a pneumatic hiss from the door and a surprised yelp from Jim, the door opened.

He stumbled in, looking around the tiny bathroom until he locked onto McCoy. The anxious, worried look slid off his face alarmingly fast. Instead, he grinned.

“Don’t.”

 Jim dropped the smile too.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” he whined.

“I’m assumin’,” McCoy said. “It was going to be something _funny_. Something _charmingly_ off-handed, that’s meant to break the tension and make me feel better. And then you’d probably wink because you kind of just wink at everything for some reason. Does that sound about right?”

McCoy looked up, blinking against the lights to see Jim properly. He watched the other man’s mouth twitch.

“I was going to perform the mission statement, but then change the last sentence to _boldly puke where no man has puked before_ ,” he admitted.

“Enlighten me, kid: how do ya perform a mission statement?”

Jim tutted in the back of his throat.

“I guess you’ll never know, now. Which totally blows, because it probably would have worked in distracting you from…this,” he gestured wide, swinging around to indicate the whole bathroom.

McCoy raised a miserable eyebrow.

“ _Hypothetically_ ,” Jim amended. “It hypothetically would have made you feel better.”

“Well, then, I hypothetically appreciate it,” McCoy mumbled, folding his knees up to his chest in order to lean his head on them. He heard Jim’s pausing shuffle. Maybe he should have let him do the mission statement. Without it, he seemed stumped about what to do now.

Jim was taking pity on him, so he might as well return the favor.

“I know this isn’t Spock’s fault,” McCoy blurted. “But don’t tell him I said so.”

“He’s trying to fix it, Bones,” Jim said. He slid down the wall and sat, still putting as much distance between McCoy as the bathroom allowed. Smart man.

“Besides,” he went on. “Don’t you think you got him back enough already? You got puke on his chair. I thought he was going to snap his own wrist in order to keep calm.”

McCoy snorted, not really possessing the energy for actual, formal laughter. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“Yeah, not sure I remember that part,” he said.

“Well, trust me, you would have loved it. Puke just _everywhere_. The chair, the console. All up in it. Just imagine, his instrument of science covered in whatever you had for lunch and it’s drip-”

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”

“Okay.”

McCoy drops his head between his knees with a groan.

This was _fucking insane._

He doesn’t think he can do it anymore. He really, really doesn’t. There’s a certain principle to living life on the _Enterprise,_ and that involves trusting its captain. McCoy had a lot of trust in Jim—a stupid amount of trust, to be honest, but it came with good reason. Jim could handle anything the ship was thrown. The problem was, this wasn’t Jim’s fight. Jim could break down bathroom doors, threaten to call Christine, and reword mission statements as much as his idiotic heart desired, but that wasn’t going to fix the problem.

The problem, as McCoy saw it, was that Spock doesn’t get bored. The Vulcan is literally unable to comprehend the illogical idea that is taking a day off. So when he does have a gap in his time, he’s gotta do something with it. Mostly, that means he likes to get involved in things that he shouldn’t. Sometimes, though, it’s actually…nice. Last month on his day off, he worked together with McCoy and Christine in order to do a complete keelhaul of Sickbay’s charting system and even McCoy had been impressed (though he’d rather pop his own knee out of joint than admit it to anyone).

This month’s day-off project was a great idea, in theory. Of course, Spock tended to work best in theory. So he was working with Scotty’s armada of eager engineers, tweaking the ship’s inertial dampening system in attempts to increase reaction times during emergencies.

Or something. McCoy hadn’t really bothered to listen.

Anyways, things went sour. They jumbled something that shouldn’t have been jumbled, or mixed up a few letters in the equation, and now the system was spitting mad and throwing a fit.

And so was McCoy because, fun fact, the inertial dampening system was the only thing keeping him grounded (literally and figuratively) on this ship. So while Spock attempted to right the mess of wrongs he had caused, the crew was left with sporadic, violent malfunctions of the ship’s stability. And also its gravity, because fuck you, that’s why.

At this point, McCoy had probably thrown up on every deck of the ship which, despite what Jim kept telling him, was _not awesome_. Every time Spock’s irrationally calm voice cut through the ship, telling all crewmen to _brace for turbulence_ , McCoy had about 5 seconds to find the nearest receptacle in which to puke. And, Starfleet, in their incalculable level of ignorance, didn’t seem to think that trash bins were that important to label, because McCoy missed them 8 times out of 10. So yeah. He’s been puking a lot. Jim had taken to carrying sick bags around with him. Starfleet didn’t outfit ships with sick bags, so it was literally anyone’s guess as to where the kid kept getting them.

McCoy was trying. Honestly, he was. He’d tried bracing himself in any way that might keep him calm. He tried lying in the fetal position. Hell, he even tried not eating, in hopes the cannon wouldn’t go far without much fodder (“Wait, does that make you the cannon? That doesn’t have the ring to it that ‘Bones’ does.” “Shut up, Jim.”). But nothing worked. There wasn’t even a hypo to fix it. Why would a starship need a cure for seasickness? They had _the inertial dampening system_ to combat any uneasy motions that might occur. If he even thought about the ship moving, he dropped like a sack of sensitive-stomached bricks onto the floor and started puking like a jackass. It’d been three days (and three nights) and he was beginning to worry that he might actually die before they fix the damn problem.

Today on the Bridge had been a real fucking treat.

He’d been up there, going over an inventory request with Jim, when Spock had done the wrong thing and the ship had begun shaking. McCoy had managed to keep calm for a full 10 seconds before promptly losing his shit. He’d felt the panic attack coming, which distracted him. He was on his ass, head between his knees, when he remembered the whole violent puking thing that usually accompanied this turn of events. He’d been up and moving to the back of the room when, apparently, his body decided he couldn’t make it and he puked all over Spock’s chair. A lot.

But here’s where things got bad.

Because the ship stopped moving. Scotty and Spock got reign of the controls and managed to stabilize everything, but McCoy couldn’t stop. He was still puking, still panicking, and still having to actively keep from passing out. Jim had been yelling at him but his head had been spinning worse than the ship had been so he couldn’t see and couldn’t understand and couldn’t really walk straight. He’d blindly stumbled into the lift, trying to keep as much of his insides intact until he made to…

“Uh, Jim?”

“Yeah, Bones?”

“Where am I?”

Jim smiled sadly.

“My quarters.”

“Oh. Did I…?”

“Puke on my rug?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“And …”

“And the bed too, yeah.”

Jim was being entirely nonchalant and McCoy wanted to pinch him for it.

 “I didn’t mean to,” McCoy muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” Jim shrugged. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he subtly (read: so unsubtle it was physically painful) examined McCoy. Finally, he shook his head and sighed dramatically.

“What?” McCoy snapped.

“You can’t get up, can you?” he asked, smirking because he already knew the answer.

McCoy wants to be angry but really doesn’t have the stomach for it. Or the energy. It’d been about three days since he’d last slept an amount worth actually counting. Instead, he nudged a shoulder up in a half-assed shrug.

“It’s not that I _can’t_ ,” he explained. “It’s just that I’m kinda worried about what’s going to happen if _I do_.”

“Well,” Jim said lightly. “If it makes you feel any better, you look absolutely horrifying. Honestly, when I first walked in here, I thought you might be dead. I’ve died, Bones. Straight up. And I am pretty sure that I looked better than you do right now.”

“That ain’t funny, Jim.”

Jim threw up his arms.

“I know it isn’t!” he said. “That’s why I said it. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine!”

That wasn’t even a good lie, but he was too distracted by his heart. It was beating faster than he strictly preferred, to put it mildly. He frowned. He thought that he had put a stop to that. Having heart palpitations was so five minutes ago. He blamed Jim’s “joke” about dying. His stupid joke and Spock’s stupid hair and the ship’s stupid fucked up gravity, and his own stupid ability to die at any given moment.

In space.

“I’m fine,” he repeated as he rubbed a hand against his chest. “I just think I’m having another panic attack…”

“Are you kidding me right now? That sentence doesn’t make any logical sense, Bones!”

Jim was up and moving to him, which was a really, really, really, really, really dumb idea because he was still stuck on that whole “I’m in space” thing and that never really ended pretty.

“ _You_ …don’t make logical sense,” he wheezed.

Jim was in front of him now, gripping his wrists, clearly lacking for something constructive to do. He did spare a moment to roll his eyes at McCoy’s stupid attempt at breaking the tension.

“You sound like Spock.”

McCoy, who had let his head drop between his knees, suddenly looked back up.

“Do…you….wanna see how…how fast I can put you in the hospital?”

Jim raised an eyebrow, the joke instantly lost.

“Do you wanna see how fast I am going to put you in Medbay? Because if you throw up again, I swear to God I will drag your ass down there in two minutes flat.”

“S…st…op _fretting_ over…me…Jim.”

Jim’s hands paused again as he shook his head.

“Dammit, Sulu,” he mumbled.

McCoy coughed loudly, in way he hoped Jim understood as laughter.

He didn’t.

He seemed to take it as a last great cry for help, by the panicked way he jumped up.

“I’m getting Christine!”

McCoy tried to grab his arm to stop him but missed completely.

“No!” he yelled instead. “Don’t! I…don’t…need help.”

“Are you serious? You’re really trying to tell me you okay right now? That’s what you’re doing?”

“Yes?”

“Bones,” Jim warned, putting his hands on his hips which would have been hilarious, had McCoy been able to, you know, _breathe_.

“Just…stay,” McCoy assured him. He tilted his head to indicate the far corner. “Over…there. Gi…give me a minute.”

Jim made an unpleasant noise in the back of his throat, but walked to the far corner, glaring suspiciously at McCoy as he sat down.

McCoy took another deep breath. Okay. Jim was now taken care of, which left his schedule clear for dealing with his personal matters. Like not passing out. Passing out would not be good. Because then Jim would really, really lose his shit and probably drag McCoy down to Medbay in an unnecessarily emasculating way.

He put his head in his hands, blocking out the lights of the bathroom as best as he could. He just needed to think.

Wait, no.

He needed to not think.

Yeah, he was on a starship, potentially light years away from familiar ground. He knew this. He’d been intimately aware of it for the last four years. He was stuck on a place that combined all of his greatest fears into one bumpy ride. And yeah, the ship was a little bit more bumpy than usual. That could excuse the puking. But the whole _crippling panic attack_ thing was entirely unwarranted. He didn’t need it. He needed to be a real person who could go through life without getting scared at the slightest inconvenience. He needed to get over it. He’d made it this far in space without dying, hadn’t he?

Yeah, he had, he absolutely had. He was a doctor, dammit! One of the best in the fleet, something he knew objectively. Formally, he had a whole drawer full of journals and awards that told him so; informally, he had a whole ship of “worst case scenario”-prone crewmen still alive that told him so. So, what? He could cure a rainy day, but not a simple case of anxiety? He shook his head.

Fuck that.

His heart was still beating in overdrive. His stomach was doing this thing where it kind of seemed angry at him. He was so tired he could lie down right here, on Jim’s (probably disgusting) bathroom floor and sleep for a week.

But at least he could breathe.

He shuffled as best as he could until he was leaning over the toilet, just as a precaution. Because, as everyone on this half of the galaxy had already heard/seen, his stomach was a little sensitive.

“Jim,” he groaned, twisting his head in his arms until he could glare miserably across the room. Jim, of course, was still there, tapping against the floor.

“Yeah, Bones?”

“Do you think they make a greeting card that says _sorry I puked on everything you love_?”

“You know, I kind of doubt it.”

McCoy nodded sadly. “I figured.”

“You could always make one yourself. You have such special way with words.”

“Don’t be a dick, Jim. I’m too tired for that.”

Jim stopped his tapping abruptly, staring at McCoy like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.   

“Stick it out for a couple more days, and we’ll be okay. I promise,” he said finally. Well, shit. That was a little more emotionally impactful than McCoy had anticipated.

“I hope so,” McCoy sighed. “I don’t think I have anything left to throw up.”

“That’s the spirit, Bones. Just keep it up.”

McCoy grunted, getting more comfortable in his corner of the room.

“Is it okay if I just stay here? Right here in your bathroom?”

“If I say no, will you go to Medbay and have a medical professional look at you?”

“I am a medical professional, Jim.”

“You’re a what?”

“A medical professional!”

“But, I mean, like what kind?”

“What are…oh. Oh, very funny. Real original, Jim.”

“Will you please just say it? For me?”

“I’m not playing this game, Jim.”

“Pllllleeeeeeeeaaaassssse?”

“Jesus Christ, fine!”

“Awesome. So. Bones. What are you?”

“I’m a Doctor, dammit!”

Jim grinned.

“Yeah, you can stay.”


	17. Not Bones

**Not Bones**

 

(Or, five times someone other than Jim called McCoy “Bones”)

 

**1\. Uhura**

 

“Where is he?”

The problem with Starfleet, McCoy figured, was that no one had really grasped the concept of minding their own fucking business. The training the school offered only went so far, it appeared. It didn’t matter that he was the farthest, darkest, most “leave me alone”-esque corner in the entire library. His back stiffened as he kept his eyes on his book. He exaggerated his scowl.

 “‘He’ who?”

“Kirk. Your annoying shadow.”

He squinted up in the direction of the voice, the harsh artificial lights of the library too bright for him. The owner of the voice was a woman, leaning with a hip cocked against the side of the table he’d claimed as his own hours before. She looked vaguely familiar—he knew he’d seen that smirk before. He shrugged at her before lifting the book up closer.

“No idea,” he glanced at his watch. “This time of night, he’s usually up to some casual law-breaking or public annoyance.”

That earned him a slight laugh from the woman. He went back to his book, already regretting his choice of moving to the library to study. It had seemed like such a good idea two hours ago. He was venturing out. He was boldly going. Now here he was, _chitchatting._

“In that case, is it okay if I share your table?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it, no.”

A bag dropped down near his elbow and he turned slowly, raising an eyebrow. The woman adjusted her ponytail.

“You’re hogging the last table,” she said.

He grunted, pushing his stuff closer to him so she could slide into the empty seat. He turned back to her, raising his book to his chest like a shield.

“I don’t like talking,” he said bluntly. “And you don’t fidget, do you?”

“I have never,” she paused, the words getting stuck. When they come out, they sound entirely foreign. “ _Fidgeted_ a day in my life.”

“Good.” He went back to his book. Then abruptly stopped, turning back to the girl.

“Wait, how do you know Jim?” He squinted his eyes at her. “You didn’t sleep with him did you?”

She rolled her eyes.

“The day I find myself attracted to Jim Kirk is the day I put a phaser to my head and pull the trigger,” she stopped moving her books around in order to stare at him dead in the eye. “It takes a lot more than Iowa charm and bad puns to get me into bed.”

The corners of McCoy’s mouth twitch traitorously but he didn’t say anything. He lets his shoulders stand down, no longer on the defensive.

“How you _willingly_ put up with the man, I have no idea,” she continued. “I can’t tell if I should respect you or if I should pity you.”

McCoy shrugged. “Either. Both.”

She slid into the seat, smiling dryly.

“I’m Nyota, by the way. Nyota Uhura.”

McCoy set down his book with a snort.

“Uhura? Jim’s ‘girl with no first name?’”

“Nyota,” she repeated. “And if you tell Kirk that, I will never forgive you.”

McCoy gave a mock salute to her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled and picked up the largest book in her stack.  The title wasn’t in any earth language, of that he was sure. Probably.

“Communications?” he asked, despite himself.

She nodded.

“Second year,” she elaborated. “How goes the medical track?”

He frowned, unsure how to put his feelings about Starfleet’s population of medical cadets into actual words, instead of just angered grunts and exasperated flailing. He felt the vein in his neck twitch.

“Have you ever been in a room and found yourself worried that the combined level of stupid residing in it might end up suffocating you?”

Nyota frowned before lightly shaking her head. McCoy nodded.

“Well it’s sort of like that,” he sighed. “Except worse, because you know that the idiots in the room with you are going to responsible for the care of entire starships full of people. And they will be gettin’ paid to do it.”

Nyota went back to her book with raised eyebrows.

“Maybe you should have tried communications,” she said. “You have way with words.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, blowing the dust off the cover of one of her books as he examined the picture on the front. “How did ya know I was medical?”

“Oh, I know all about you, Bones,” she said off-handedly. The smirk on her face dipped at McCoy’s sudden, violent, groan.

“Don’t call me that,” he whined. “That’s a stupid nickname that I am never, ever, going to allow to catch on.”

She tipped her head in understanding.

“That’s the only thing Jim calls you,” she explained. “So I don’t actually know your name.”

“Leonard,” he supplied. “Leonard McCoy. Doctor.”

“Alright then, Leonard Leonard McCoy Doctor. No nicknames,” she smiled. “Unless I find out you ratted out my name to Jim. Then I’ll change your comm frequency so it says _Dr. Bones_ every time you try to call anyone.”

That, actually, drew a laugh out of him.

“Ah, don’t worry,” he smirked. “Upsetting Jim just so happens to be my favorite activity.”

“Odd. Because I think it just might be mine as well.”

They shared a smile before going back to work.

 

* * *

 

 

**2\. Spock**

McCoy sank down into the chair, sighing a deeply sincere “Fuck,” as he did so.

He ran a hand along the length of his face, surprised at the sharp hair he felt there. He didn’t remember the last time he had shaved. Or slept. Or left this room, really.

He seriously did not get paid enough for this.

Jim was dead.

Was dead.

As in, past tense.

As in, he wasn’t presently.

As in, no monetary sum in the entire world would be enough to accurately translate into the amount of sweat, tears, blood, and goddamn _grit_ McCoy had put in literally bringing his best friend back from the dead. And while he may have succeeded, dealing with Jim’s subsequent coma after being reacquainted with a pulse was an equally Herculean feat. The kid never did anything half-ass, that was for damn sure. Since they’d transferred him over to Starfleet Medical’s ICU six days ago, he’d coded twice, dropped his blood pressure to levels lower than McCoy had ever seen in his entire career, had a mild seizure and then, just for kicks, casually bled out of his ears for a little while. All of that made McCoy angry enough that, had he not been so worried about Jim, he would have beat him to (re)death with his own hands. The kid was too stupid to live.

Jim was being selfish. Granted, after saving a good chunk of the world, the kid of deserved it. But that logic did nothing to soothe McCoy’s frayed nerves or calm the aching, acidic pit in his stomach. He wanted Jim—proper Jim. Grand, ungodly, god-like Jim—in order to accept that it was all worth it. He needed to see Jim, racing off somewhere with his grin that just screamed “Look at me!” Jim was never good at sitting still while life went on around him. Yet here he was. McCoy wanted to yell or complain and pissy and difficult but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

But he looked back to the bed, where Jim was still as comatose as ever. At this point, there was nothing more he could do. Jim seemed to have stabilized, so there was no immediate problem for him to be distracted by. McCoy was tired; so, so tried yet he knew he couldn’t stay seated for more than another couple minutes. He had to do something. Anything. Action of some kind. He needed something to plan out, to put in A-to-B-then-C terms, in order to feel the rush of something being completed accordingly. Because, like he said, Jim was being selfish and refusing to wake up, no matter how much McCoy planned on that.

As predicated, he jumped out of his seat not a second later. Dammit, Jim.

“May I speak freely, Dr. McCoy?”

McCoy looked past Jim’s bed to the other side of the room, where Spock had been sitting for the last hour and a half—that’s it. Sitting. In absolute stillness. None of the fidgeting or symptoms of restlessness that McCoy had been suffering from since he’d been in the room. Then again, he’d always handled smaller spaces better than McCoy had. And really, it was truly a small room. You’d think for the captain of the fleet’s flagship, someone who had previously been deceased, they would have-

“Dr. McCoy?”

 McCoy blinked. He was slipping. Focus. Spock had asked him something? Dammit, Spock had asked him something.

“Spock, we’re not on duty—hell, we aren’t even on the ship,” he finally managed. “Speak freely all you want. And you know you can call me Leonard, right?”

“Of course, Dr. McCoy. “

Okay, then.

“What is, Spock?” McCoy asked, too strung out for a fight, no matter how disgustingly soothing he would probably find the distraction. Spock was turning his inability to handle Jim’s death into a spectator sport and McCoy was just as sick of _that_ as he was of Jim’s broken God complex.

“I wish to express my censure at your newly developed behaviors ,” Spock said, the hands clasped in his lap the image of peace, despite his tone falling almost chilly.

McCoy rubbed at the back of his neck. Censure. That was one of those unnecessarily formal words nobody used anymore, except for Spock.

“You wanna run that by me again?”

The look Spock gave him let McCoy know that he wanted dearly to roll his eyes at him, if Vulcans were even capable of such things.

“I do not agree with how you have been handling certain things since the Captain’s-”

A pause? Was that a pause McCoy heard?

“Since the Captain has fallen ill,” the Vulcan finished.

“’Fallen ill,’” McCoy laughed, bitter, hollowed, and very obviously biting. He couldn’t help it. He glared down at Spock, let his hands clench against his thighs. “That’s an awfully kind way for you to describe it.”

“I was merely try-”

“Died,” McCoy bit out, moving forward a step around Jim’s bed, a step closer to Spock. Regardless if Spock had intended to start a fight, he was going to get one now. “Died is the word you are looking for. Jim died. So, yeah, you can say I’ve been a little be preoccupied to ‘handle’ things. I’m sorry I did not fill out the proper FM764 form or whatever the hell it is. Because I may have saved Jim, but he is doing his damn hardest to waste my good work. I’ve barely had time to leave this room to-”

“Exactly.”

McCoy’s foot stumbled mid-pace.

“What?”

“You have barely left this room since the Captain was transferred here. You are not sleeping. You are not eating,” Spock told him, his clinically tone sharp enough to feel.

McCoy dropped the anger he’d been gathering the last few minutes in a heap, his shoulders slumping. He sighed, real and honest, and let his head dip forward.

“I know,” he muttered. “I’ve just—I’ve just been a little bit busy.”

Spock shook his head once, quick enough it was easy for McCoy to believe he hadn’t seen it.

“The Captain’s health is not an excuse for you to endanger yourself as you have been,” Spock pressed. “You do not look well.”

McCoy tried for a smile.

“I think I regret lettin’ ya speak freely.”

Spock (surprise, surprise) ignored the remark.

“The Captain’s condition has not changed in five hours,” he pointed out. “It is logical to assume he will remain as he is for as long as it will take you to eat and rest.”

Before McCoy could protest, Spock pressed on.

“Besides, I will be here,” he said. McCoy waited. “Along with the other 2,424 Doctors and nurses on duty in the building.”

McCoy looked at Spock. He looked at Jim. He looked down at his shoes. He looked back at Spock.

“Tomorrow morning,” he finally said. “I will be back first thing tomorrow morning. But I swear to God, if anything changes and you don’t call me, I will-”

“Understood,” Spock said, inclining his head.

McCoy hesitated reaching the door, looking back uncertainly at Jim’s prone figure on the bed.

“Go,” Spock intoned quietly.

McCoy’s eyes flickered to him before he nodded, getting his feet moving once again.

“Rest well, Dr. McCoy. Or, as the Captain would say,”

McCoy reached the door, paused.

“Get some sleep, Bones.”

McCoy smiled at the door close behind him.

 

* * *

 

**3\. Scotty**

“Did anybody bother to tell you guys that this was a dumbass idea?”

“No, that’s why we’ve got you, Bones.”

McCoy folded his arms with a huff.

“Whatever. It is a stupid idea, Jim, just for the record. A stupid, idiotic, dangerous, no-good, idiotic-”

“You said ‘idiotic’ twice,” Jim called down to him.

“That’s because it needed repeating.”

Scotty chuckled beside him.

McCoy ignored him.

He and Jim had been on their way to lunch when Scotty had come running up to them in a panic, going off about the inertial coil or something. McCoy had understood about every third word he said, but knew enough to get the fact that he was most likely going to be eating lunch alone. As Jim had folded his arms with a frown while Scotty babbled on, McCoy had given him a small wave before leaving the pair to it.

And now, three hours later, McCoy wished he had stayed because clearly, the two needed a voice of reason. He’d come down to see what was up after he’d found Jim missing from the Bridge only to see both him and Scotty elbow deep in some giant machine, covered in grease and reeking of who knows what. After apparently fixing whatever the bottom of the machine had been broken, someone needed to climb the ladder along the side that looked about four decades older than anything else aboard the ship. It looked forgotten, rickety, and a whole other list of adjectives that made him antsy as he watched Jim climb.

“Is this machine dangerous?” McCoy asked, shifting eyes to look at Scotty instead.

“Oh certainly,” he said cheerfully.

“And you’re alright letting your Captain go up there?” McCoy asked, indignant. “Aren’t you worried he’s going to get hurt?”

 Scotty shook his head with a smile, looking up with pride at either Jim or the machine, McCoy couldn’t tell.

“No,” he said, “That’s why we’ve got you, Bones.”

McCoy looked back up at Jim’s ascent, Scotty’s smile making him even more anxious than he was before.

 

* * *

 

**4\. Joanna**

McCoy hiked Joanna more securely on his back as he took off down the hall. He glanced sideways, where Jim had fallen in step.

“You’re a miracle worker,” he said, still slightly in awe.

Jim smiled and ran a hand along the back of his neck in a clear self-deprecating move.

“Just trying to help, Bones,” he said.

McCoy opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Joanna letting her head fall between the two, her tiny face scrunched up.

“Bones?” she said simply, raising an eyebrow—an amateur move, if McCoy was the judge.

“A nickname for your dad,” Jim explained, twisting his body around until he was walking backwards in front of the other two. “A very special nickname.”

“Bones,” Joanna drawled out and testing the word.

“Because he’s a doctor, get it?” Jim said excitedly.

“Jim thinks he’s funny, sweetheart,” McCoy informed her, smirking at Jim’s fallen face.

“I like it,” she said, smiling.

“Me too!” Jim’s own grin was back. “Finally, someone who appreciates it.”

“Bones,” Joanna said again. “Dr. Bones.”

And thus, McCoy was forced to walk the rest of the way to the cafeteria among Jim and Joanna’s unending, excited chants of “Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones! Dr. Bones!”

 

* * *

 

**5\. McCoy**

There was a big difference between dead and presumed dead.

There was a big difference between Jim laying in a zipped up body bag and Jim being missing.

Right?

He barreled through his office door, slamming it roughly shut behind him. Immediately, he began pacing the short distance between wall to wall, his breathing harsh and fists clenched at his sides.

_No, no, no._

Jim wasn’t dead. Not again. He was going to show up any second and make fun of them all for worrying so much. _I find your lack of faith disturbing_ he probably say, slapping McCoy on the back harder than was necessary.

Right?

McCoy slammed both his hands on his desk with a growl. For a second, he was deafened by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He let his head drop.

“Get it together, Bones,” he mumbled.

He hated being reminded that Jim is not indestructible. He hated that the Jim is simultaneously his favorite person in the world and the person that annoyed him the most—the favorite _and_ the prodigal son. And, above all, he hated that he had been right this morning. If there was one thing he knew about Jim Kirk, it was that only an idiot would bet against him.

He opened his eyes.

_Only an idiot would bet against Jim._

Pushing off against the desk, he took off at a run out of his office door.


	18. Not Having a Party

Over the years, Jim had gotten really good at dying.

Like, really, _really_ good.

Call it a hobby—like knitting or Sudoku. He dabbled in dying, you could say. Mortality wasn’t just some game or abstract concept to him, despite what his illustrious death toll led everyone to believe. He knew exactly just how embarrassingly capable he was of dying at any given moment; explosions, stab wounds, burns, alien parasites, angry non-corporeal entities, radiation poisoning, you name it. He’d been there, done that. If losing a pulse was a medium, James T. Kirk was a _goddamn artist_.

He also happened to be a hell of a good actor.

* * *

 

_Monday, 1255. Cafeteria._

“Uhura, quick, give me your pineapple fritter.”

Nyota did not look up, continuing to cut a perfect triangulated piece out of the side of the pastry.

“No,” she said. The captain gave a grossly unbecoming sigh as he collapsed into the chair in front of her.

“It’s an emergency, I swear,” he whispered.

“Get your own,” she sighed. The captain had a habit of making everything an emergency. So excuse Nyota if she wasn’t beside herself with worry.

“Uhura _please_.”

Uhura looked up, frowning around the bite she had just taken.

“But I want it.”

“Jesus Christ, I’ll get you a new one in a minute, just give it to me,” Jim said. Frantic. Desperate. He looked over his shoulder, towards the silverware drawers where Dr. McCoy stood, picking through the forks. Jim turned back to Nyota.

“Uhura, I’m begging you. I’ll explain in a minute. _Just…Please.”_

 Nyota’s face pinched. _The things she did for diplomacy._   She pushed the pineapple fritter, missing a perfect triangle gap on the side, towards the Captain. He immediately grabbed a napkin and picked it up, dropping it on his plate like it was burning. He winked at her before casually resting an elbow on the table.

“Act cool,” he whispered.

“What, like you?”

“Jim, move over,” Dr. McCoy interrupted. “Your damn weird elbows are in the way.”

Nyota narrowed her eyes at the Captain as she watched Dr. McCoy pull out the chair beside him, pushing Jim’s elbows off the table without a thought.

Something was up. She hated when something was up.

She opened her mouth and Jim subtly shook his head. He cleared his throat and turned to the doctor.

“Good soup today,” he said. “They must have started adding more spice. Good for them, I say.”

Dr. McCoy snorted as he picked out the tomatoes from his salad.

“Jim, it’s chicken noodle. There are no spices in it,” he sighed. Jim glanced at Uhura before coughing lightly and twisting his spoon through the soup.

“Really? I just feel…it’s a little hot,” he said. He cleared his throat again.

“Hmm,” Dr. McCoy said. He did a poor imitation of Spock’s eyebrow raise. “Fascinating.”

Jim looked at Uhura with wide-eyed exasperation, like they were in on it together.

They were not.

Nyota sipped her drink.

Jim coughed hoarsely, glancing at the doctor out the side of his eye as he did so. Dr. McCoy was too busy looking for the rest of the tomatoes to notice. Jim pinched his nose roughly for a second before apparently changing directions. He dropped his hands and pulled the napkin holding Nyota’s pineapple fritter closer.

“Bones, you gotta try these doughnuts. They’re _aaaamazzzzing_ ,” he said, drawing out the word.

“I hate sprinkles. They’re useless and I won’t acknowledge th-”

“No, it’s not the one with sprinkles,” the Captain interrupted. “It’s the other ones they had.”

There was pause. A quick, half a second moment when everything, everywhere seemed to brace itself, except for Jim, who rubbed an exaggerated hand across his sternum.

Dr. McCoy dropped his fork, raising his head slowly and turning in his seat to stare at Jim. His eyes went wide.

“Jim,” he said, quiet and low. “Tell me you didn’t.”

The Captain looked up from his plate.

“Didn’t what?” he said, frowning first at Dr. McCoy and then Uhura. “Bones? Tell you I didn’t _what_?”

“Jim, those are pineapple,” Dr. McCoy’s voice escalated alarmingly. He kicked his chair out behind him. _“_ Those. Are. _Pineapple_.”

Jim looked down at his plate, his face the perfect mixture of shock and awe.

“Uh…oops?”

“Dammit, Jim,” Dr. McCoy growled before taking off at the door in a full sprint. Jim, Uhura, and the entire caf watched him push through the doorway with an almighty battle cry. As soon as he was gone, Jim turned back to Uhura with a smile. He leaned his elbow on the table again.

“So, Lieutenant, you busy tomorrow?”

 Uhura looked from Jim to the gap of people Dr. McCoy had cut through.

“Captain, what-”

“I’m allergic to pineapple,” Jim said brightly. “Anyways, that’s not important. What is important is tomorrow. Are you free? I kinda need to know soonish.”

_“What?”_

“I’m fine,” Jim sighed. “You know you I didn’t eat any. I just needed to get Bones out of here for a minute. I’m planning his birthday party _. For tomorrow._ And I need you to spread the word. That’s your mission, as head of the communications department.”

_“What?”_

 “Uhura, God,” he said. “Stay focused. We have a very limited window until Bones comes back and drags me away.  Just answer the question. _Tomorrow._ Yes or no?”

“You couldn’t have asked me on the Bridge? _Or anywhere else_?”

Jim swatted her words away like a bug.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Uhura dropped her face into her hands. “Oh my God.”

“I’ll take that as ‘yes, Jim, I am free tomorrow.’ Which is great. It’s important to Bones that you’re there, probably.”

“Fine,” Uhura grit out. “But if he gets pissed I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jim said. “Just meet tomorrow in Medbay, 1700. No wait! 1701. It’s a surprise, so don’t say anything. Spock already knows, though, and he’s totally game. He’s in charge of party hats.”

“You are not as funny as you think you are. Just FYI,” Uhura said evenly. She glanced back at the table with a smirk. “You know you have to take a bite of the doughnut before he gets back, right?”

“Yeah, I figured,” Jim sighed. He eyed the pastry, picking it up and biting the opposite side that Uhura had. He wiped the crumbs off his mouth delicately with the napkin.

“I do love pineapple though,” he smiled. After a pause he rubbed the back of his neck. He looked up at Uhura with a dropping smile.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re going into anaphylactic shock.”

Jim rolled his shoulders lightly, stretching with a wince.

“Excellent. That’s kind of what I was going for.”

Uhura raised an eyebrow as McCoy came barreling around the corner.

“You’re an idiot,” she sighed.

“Ain’t I just,” Jim muttered, wincing as McCoy stabbed his neck with the large hypo.

* * *

 

_Monday, 1436. Medbay._

Bones was so pissed.

So Jim had eaten pineapple. _Big deal._ He was fine! Bones had been _right there_. It’s not like he had done it on accident, carelessly forgetting that pineapple made his throat swell shut. He’d done it on purpose, so it was okay. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just explain that Bones. First of all, it would defeat the purpose of a surprise party, second of all, the man wasn’t even here.

Jim felt the blood rush to his head as he leaned over the edge of the biobed. Even though he’d been discharged an hour ago, he was sticking around, waiting for Christine to get back from lunch. She was key for the operation.

“What are you doing?”

Jim looked up (or down) as Christine came to a stop beside his head, still hanging off the edge of bed. Jim tilted his head.

“I’m having my cake and eating it too.”

 “What?”

“Nothing,” Jim said, sliding down until his head was back on the bed. “How was lunch?”

“Good,” she said slowly. Then she glanced around, sensing the deeper problem. “Where’s Dr. McCoy?”

“I locked him in his quarters.”

Christine, trained in the art of Jim Kirk, merely sighed—it was resigned, like she’d somehow expected that answer.

“Why?”

“Because I need to talk to you and rigging a locking system was easier than another allergic reaction,” Jim said.

“About what?” Christine said. She rubbed a hand across her face. “What could be so important?”

“Two words,” Jim said. He paused. “Wait, three words: Bone’s Birthday Bash.”

Christine dropped her hand, turning to face Jim.

“No.”

Jim grinned. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Jim, no way,” Christine said, half in awe, half in fear, it seemed. “He’s going to _throw a fit_ if we do anything.”

“I disagree.”

“And I disagree with your disagree,” she snapped. “He hates parties.”

“Can’t you just trust me on this?” Jim sighed.

“No. You don’t have to work with him on a daily basis.”

 “Come on, Christine! The last time you didn’t listen to me, I almost died from lavarine,” Jim said, squinting his eyes up at her. “You owe me one. For my pain and suffering.”

“Lavarine wouldn’t have killed you,” Christine pointed out. “It burns and makes you pee yourself.”

“Exactly. Emotional pain,” Jim said, twisting around on the bed until he could prop his elbows up. “Which you _inflicted_. Because you didn’t trust me.”

Christine looked down at him, crossing her arms. A habit she must have picked up from her boss—when Bones crossed his arms in an argument, it meant he was on the verge of giving in to whatever Jim wanted. It was Jim’s favorite of his tells.

“You know he’s going to love it,” he continued. A final blow. “We’ve never had a party for him. Not even at the academy. We were always too busy. You know how much he loves giving gifts. Imagine giving one to him in return? _Imagine his little face, Christine.”_

Christine tapped her foot, glaring down at him.

“But what if he gets mad?”

“What is he going to do?” Jim asked her. “You know he’s nothing but a grumpy pretty face. He’ll scowl. Maybe he’ll yell. But then he’ll get over it. Think about how beautiful it’s going to be. You’ll weep.”

Jim rested his head on his hands, looking up at her.

She made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat, pausing. And then…

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

Jim sat up in the bed, crossing his legs.

“You gotta get the cake.”

Christine snorted.

“Jim—Captain,” she said, resting a hand on his. “This is why this is a terrible idea. We can’t have cake. He _hates_ cake.”

“I know but I love it. So we’re having cake. Which you need to get. I like chocolate,” Jim said. He shook his head. “Hell, I like any kind. Except for pineapple, obviously.”

“No. We’re getting pie,” Christine said.

“No. We’re getting both,” Jim said, simply. “I got the recipe from Mama McCoy to make a traditional McCoy Family Pecan Pie two weeks ago. I already have it made. I just need you to get the cake for the rest of the party.”

“Oh.”

Jim hoped off the bed with a smile, resting his hands on Christine’s shoulders.

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Now do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes?” she said, entirely unconvincingly.

“Good enough,” Jim said. “Just get the cake, keep the secret, and it’ll all be aces, I promise. Okay?”

The pneumatic hiss of the Medbay doors had them both jumping as Bones walked through, look as disgruntled as Jim had hoped. The timer he’d set on the door must have expired while he’d been convincing Christine. Jim’s face remained calm as he looked back to her.

“Okay?” he repeated.

“Okay,” Christine whispered as McCoy’s footsteps closed in.

Jim turned to him with a grin, leaning casually against the biobed. Bones scowled.

“Why are you here?” he asked roughly. Jim looked to his partner in crime, who had already begun to make a hasty backwards retreat. Et tu, Christine?

“Uhhhhhhhhh,” Jim said blankly, looking around desperately. “I love being in Medbay?”

“No.”

“I love these beds?”

“No.”

“I love…you?”

Bones gave an unimpressed sigh.

“You have ten seconds to leave.”

Jim saluted quickly before heading out the doors.

* * *

 

_Monday, 1502. Engine Room._

Jim slid around the corner, his hand slapping onto the wall before he could actually fall. Scotty, true to his heritage, remained entirely unfazed.

“Captain,” he greeted.

“Scotty,” Jim panted.  “Can you be pissed at Bones for the next five minutes?”

Scotty rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, with a quick look from Jim to the Resonance Field Grid he’d been in the middle of dissembling.

“Yeah, alright,” he shrugged. “What am I pissed about?”

“I don’t know,” Jim wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “Something big. You’re so pissed, you messed with the wiring in his quarters.”

“ _Is_ there something wrong the wiring in his quarters?”

“Yeah, it’s…it was,” Jim waved his hand. “It was just a thing that I did! Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Scotty shrugged again.

“He’ll be here in a second,” Jim said, looking quickly around the sea of red shirts. “He was right behind me and I had to run. He… was _really_ motivated…and I was—”

_“Scotty!”_

Like a pissed-off southern nanny, Bones rounded the corner with angry, vindictive steps and clenched fists.

“McCoy, you miserable bastard!” Scotty countered, his stance widening. He pointed roughly at Bones’ chest. “Get out of here before I drag you out by your hair!”

Jim immediately regretted his decisions.

“Oh, _I’m_ the miserable bastard?” Bones yelled. “You’re the miserable bastard. Did you lock me in my quarters?”

“Aye, I did,” Scotty said, folding his arms. “A right proper punishment for what you did, don’t you think?”

Bones took half a step back, his breathing hard.

“Proper punishment my ass, Scotty!” he said. “You’re a goddamn child.”

“And I repeat,” Scotty said with a twisted smirk. “ _You’re a miserable, selfish, turncoat bastard.”_

Bones squared off his shoulders combatively, turning the full-force of his scowl at Scotty as the Scotsman set his shoulders. Neither blinked. Neither breathed.

“Bones, maybe you should-”

“Oh. Ohhhhh,” Bones yelled, throwing his hands up as he turned to Jim. “Don’t even get me started with you, _Captain!_ You’re just as bad as he is! You’re both rotten. This whole damn ship is rotten and I ain’t gonna bite.”

He turned on his heels after one final glare at the pair of them.

Jim turned to Scotty, opening his mouth.

“I ain’t gonna bite, Jim!” Bones’ voice suddenly cut back, echoing from the hall. “I ain’t gonna bite.”

Jim closed his mouth, waiting. When no further irascibly-cryptic yells followed, he tried again.

“Okay, so that was great, but I think we may have fucked up.”

Scotty’s grin slipped.

“I did exactly what you said!”

“I know you did,” Jim said. “And then Bones kind of went insane.”

Scotty threw up his arms.

_“Was that not that plan?”_

“No! Yes. Whatever,” Jim dismissed. “I just needed him to leave. I need to talk to you about something.”

“And you had to get me in trouble in order to get that done?”

“I owe you one,” Jim gave as an answer putting on his diplomatically-inclined smile as he moved his arm around Scotty’s shoulders.

“So. Talk to me about illicit alcohol breweries...”

* * *

 

_Tuesday, 0923. Cafteria._

 

Jim taps.

He just can’t help it. He’ll hit against something, sometimes by accident, and he’ll find he likes the noise. So he’ll repeat it. Incessantly. With determination.

McCoy is positive he isn’t even aware he is doing it—the man just has a subconscious need to make noise. Somewhere along the way, McCoy had just learned to ignore it, adding it to his mental list of all the shit Jim just kind of…does. Reactions, ticks, slips, faults, and habits. It’s all there, catalogued away.

But for some reason, this seemed different.

Jim was tapping roughly against the hard edge of the table, something he’d done a thousand times before. And McCoy was ignoring it. Something he’d done a thousand times before.

The thing was that was new was the staring.

Jim wasn’t saying anything to accompany the tapping. He wasn’t eating his breakfast. He was just staring at McCoy. Right at him, full force, like the way he looked at new planets or some level of criminality he had yet to try out.

Excited and smug as hell.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jim’s fingers stopped tapping.

 “Like what?”

“I don’t know! Just…the way you are.”

“Sorry,” Jim said, yet he didn’t stop smirking.

McCoy set down his silverware with a sigh, pointedly crossing his arms. He didn’t say anything, just waited Jim out instead. The other man held out for a whole whopping two seconds before leaning forward.

“Do you know what today is?”

McCoy rolled his eyes.

“No, Jim. I have absolutely no idea,” he snapped, but he was smiling.

“So what are we doing? Drinking disgracefully? Taking a shuttle out for a spin? Putting another chicken in Scotty’s quarters?”

McCoy laughed.

“Tempting,” he said. “I got no idea why he’s so pissed at me. I didn’t do anything to him!”

“Yeah,” Jim laughed, resuming his tapping. “That’s Scotty. Craaaaaaazy Scotty.”

“Anyways,” he pressed. “Plans. For your birthday. Which is today.”

“I don’t know, Jim,” McCoy said. He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Something that doesn’t involve angry engineers or pineapple?”

“Okay,” Jim said. “Easy enough. I already have something planned. You’re going to love it.”

“I doubt it, but feel free to give it a try,” McCoy deadpanned, pushing his chair back as he stood up.

“Trust me,” Jim assured him. “Meet me at the Bridge at 5:30.”

“Sure thing,” McCoy said. He stopped short when Jim grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving the table.

“Exactly 5:30, Bones,” he said. “No sooner, no later. Just 5:30.”

“Jesus, Jim,” McCoy whined. “5:30. _I got it.”_

“Okay, good,” Jim said, releasing McCoy’s arm and grinning. He hopped up from the table with a smile.

“See you then!” he called over his shoulder.

McCoy shook his head.

The kid was weird.

* * *

 

  _Tuesday. 1730. Bridge._

5:30 (exactly; no sooner, no later) McCoy walked onto the Bridge. 

A two second look around told him already that Jim was, in fact, not there, despite giving the most specific, adamant, and cryptic directions for McCoy to meet him there. At this exact moment.   

He threw up his arms.

“Chekov,” he turned to the navigator. “Where the hell is Captain Kirk?”

“Uhhh…I…don’t know, Dr. McCoy,” Chekov said quickly. “I haven’t seen him since…ever. At all.”

McCoy just looked at him.

 “I do not know anything! Бог!” Chekov yelled, turning back to his station.

“Okay then,” McCoy said, shaking his head roughly. He turned to Sulu, who was staring blankly at Chekov.

“Sulu? You got anything better?”

“The Captain left ten minutes ago, sir,” he said, looking away finally. “He said he was meeting you in the rec room.”

“The rec—? What? He said here!”

Sulu shrugged.

“That’s just what he told us, sir.”

“Yes! That is what we were told!” Chekov piped up.

McCoy ignored him.

“The rec room?” he repeated.

“The rec room,” Sulu said, nodding his head.

“Jesus, okay,” McCoy said, throwing up his arms one last time, just on principle, before heading back to the turbo lift.

When he got to the rec room, he found out that not only is Jim _not_ there either, but Scotty was the only one sitting at one of the long tables.

McCoy clenched his jaw, holding up his hands as he approaches.

“Scotty, I don’t want any trouble, I’m just—”

Scotty interrupted him with a grin.

“Ah, doctor. Looking for the Captain?”

McCoy dropped his arms.

“Uh…yeah…”

“You just missed him, I’m afraid,” Scotty said with an exaggerated shake of his head.

“Did he happen to mention where he was going?” McCoy asked.

“Oh certainly!” Scotty said brightly. “He was headed to Medbay, looking for you.”

McCoy pinched between his eyes.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Uh…no?”

He growled and backed out the door. If Jim wasn’t in Medbay, he was giving up. He was going back to his quarters and going straight to bed. They could celebrate his birthday when everyone on this ship wasn’t acting so goddamn strange. He was used to Jim being weird (see above “Shit Jim Does”) but Chekov and Scotty and Uhura and even Christine were all…being weird—weirder than the low-level weirdness that defined the _Enterprise._  This was localized weirdness. Towards him.

So what he wanted for his birthday, above all else, was for everyone to just stop doing whatever it is they were doing.

That was it.

* * *

 

_Tuesday. 1802. Medbay._

 

“How’d it go?”

“Chekov made it weird.”

Jim looked past Sulu towards his Russian navigator, who looked panicked.

“I didn’t mean to, Captain! I just…I didn’t know what to say and I was just sort of going with it and I—”

Jim patted the kid on the back, handing him a glass of punch.

“It’s alright, Ensign,” he said gently. “As long as it worked, right?”

“Oh, it worked,” Sulu came back with a cup of his own. “We had the ship’s system track his progress. As soon as he made it to the rec room, we left Mathews and Delion in charge.”

“Good,” Jim muttered, looking around the crowded Medbay. “Good, good, good.”

Bones was going to be so shocked. He was probably also going to be royally pissed about this many people dirtying up his Medbay.

Jim couldn’t wait.

Nothing gave him a bigger rush than exasperating Leonard McCoy.

He gave a wink to Christine, who was over pouring punch for another nurse. They’d turned one of the biobeds into a table, holding punch and… some _other_ punch (curtesy of Mr. Montgomery Scott) that Jim was pretending to know nothing about. The cake was next to it and the pie was stashed away in Bones’ office, for Jim to pull out later for one final surprise.

Jim pushed past a couple of lieutenants, a handful of security guards, and a passive looking Spock in order to reach to front of the room, closest to the doors. He felt like he was buzzing. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with the “punch” he didn’t know about. Bones should be here any minute, assuming he hadn’t actually picked another fight with Scotty. He wouldn’t, right? Scotty wouldn’t let that happen….right?

Jim took another drink. 

“Battle stations,” he whispered to himself. He could already hear Bones’ short, vengeful stomps down the hall. He sounded pissed off and Jim couldn’t have been happier.

The doors slid open.

There was a half-second pause between Bones appearing in the doorway and everyone in the room noticing.

“Happy Birthday!” Jim yelled first, throwing his arms out wide.

“SURPRISE!” Everyone in the room added.

Bones took half a step back and paused.

And paused.

And paused.

The whole room stood in silence as his wide eyes took in everything, from Jim, to the cake, to the presents some people had brought, to the crowd of people.

“Bones?” Jim said carefully, lowering his arms.

Bones looked at him and opened his mouth before changing his mind and closing it.

He looked back at the crowd one last time before turning right around and heading back out the doors.

“Dammit, Bones,” Jim groaned. He quickly handed Spock his drink before following the doctor out the door.

“Bones!” he called down the hall. “Come back!”

Bones was already gone, the hallway completely deserted and leaving Jim with no way of knowing where he’d gone.

If he turned right, it would take him towards Bones’ quarters, empty labs, or the transportation room. All viable hideout spots.

If he turned left, it would take him to observation. Bones had never, ever, been to the observation deck. Jim knew this. It was a huge room filled with nothing but windows—Bones hated space and he really hated reminders that he was in space. It would be the last place anyone would think to look for him.

Jim turned left and took off running.

Okay, so he fucked up. He realized now what a horrible idea this had been. Bones hated surprises. He hated people. And he especially hated people doing things for him—he was just beautifully screwed up like that.

When the doors of slid open, Jim ran in, almost colliding head on with Bones, who appeared to be pacing. He looked up with a wince when he caught sight of Jim. They looked at each other before both speaking at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jim took another step into the room and let the doors close shut behind him. “Why are you sorry?” he asked.

This was in no way Bones’ fault.

But it would be just like him to think it was, somehow.

“Because I ran out! I didn’t mean to, I just—wait, why are _you_ sorry?”

“I thought you were angry,” Jim said.

Bones seemed floored by that.

“No, Jim,” he said, rough. “I ain’t mad at ya.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bones said quietly, dropping down onto one of the benches.

Jim believed him. Of all the things Jim knew about Bones, his anger was Jim’s area of expertise. Bones got angry when he got upset. It was his default.  So he knew this is wasn’t anger. Bones had always been the most transparent person Jim’s ever met. He tried to cover it up with the growling, curmudgeon shtick, but Jim knew him too well, knew all of his tells. He wasn’t moving, first of all. He was sitting on the bench, taking up as less space as possible, completely still. That meant anxious. Or worried.

Jim walked over at sat down on the bench next to him.

“So. You ran out on your party.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Humor me.”

Bones leaned his head back against the padding of the bench, sighing. Jim could wait. Bones was…not the best at expressing himself, to say the least. That usually meant he liked to yell the important things in Jim’s general direction.

Finally, though, he rolled his head in order to look at Jim out of the corner of his eyes.

“You had a fucked up childhood, Jim.”

Jim frowned, completely stumped by the non-sequitur.

“Okaaaaay,” he said eventually.

“Like, textbook, worst-case scenario for childhoods.”

Jim knew this. Of course he knew this. He’d spent his whole life unable to unaware of it. He also knew that, of all the people in all the planets, Bones was the only person in the world he wouldn’t allow to feel guilty about it.

“Yeah, but I got over it, Bones.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Oh.

“So…you ran out of your party because I had a shitty time as a kid?”

Bones smirked, but his eyes were still vulnerably wide.

“No,” he said. “I was just saying, your childhood makes it so I can’t really complain about mine. I had the best parents, Jim. The greatest. They did everything for me. So, compared to you, I don’t deserve the right to complain.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Thanks,” Bones sighed. There wasn’t any bite to it. It was always a bad sign when Bones was too upset to keep the sharpness in his words.

“Ignore my childhood, just for ten minutes. Repression has worked great for me the last 28 years. I imagine you could be pretty good at it.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Jim said seriously. “You got that whole martyr complex thing going on. It’s perfect. So just repress my wayward youth. Talk to me about yours.”

“You have to promise not to laugh.”

“Bones,” Jim warned. No matter what Bones had to say, Jim knew there was no way in hell he could find humor in it.

Bones sighed again, heavy.

“I didn’t really have friends growing up,” he told Jim. “I was kind of…well, me.”

Jim smiled, then. Not because he found it funny. It was anything but that. He was smiling at the idea of Bones being a kid. Of course Bones was the same when he was a kid. He was someone who was just that irrepressible.

“Anyways, I was ten, right? And I decided I wanted a party. I had never had a birthday party, aside from my folks singin’ around cake at dinner on my birthday, and it was something all the other kids did, so I figured I should give it a shot.”

He was smiling too, but Jim felt it was more for his benefit than anything.

“I made all the invitations myself,” he said. “Wrote each kid’s name on the cover, on real paper with real paint and everything. Took a hell of a long time. So I pass them out the next day at school. I waited at the door with the big bag full of them, passing them out one by one. The party was that Friday.”

Bones was silent for a minute before giving a small shrug.

“Anyways, no one showed up,” he finished.

“Bones…” Jim said.

Bones shrugged again.

“Whatever,” he said. Although the dismissal was too fast, too loud, and altogether too unconvincing for Jim to forget. “Fuck those guys. I ate so much cake that night, I haven’t been able to smell the stuff since without getting sick. But anyways. I ran out of the party tonight because I just…needed a minute. To figure out how to react, I guess. I’ve never had party before. I didn’t think I was that kind of person people do that for.”

Jim didn’t really know what the last sentence meant, but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. He could deal with it later, after pecan pie and a lot of “punch”. He gave Bones a sideways glance. He didn’t know what to say. So he chose the wrong thing, just because it was safe.

“I’m the one who locked you in your quarters.”

He paused.

“I also ate the pineapple on purpose.”

And because Bones wasn’t done surprising him yet, he jumped a little when the doctor started laughing.

“I know, Jim,” he said. “I figured that out two seconds after they yelled ‘surprise.’”

“And you aren’t… _pissed beyond belief at me_?”

“Well,” Bones said, drawling out the word as he leaned forward. His eyebrows were scrunched up in the middle, like he was trying to be angry but failing. “It was dedicated, I’ll give you that. It was also the stupidest thing I have ever heard. But we can worry about that later. Tomorrow, when we’re both sufferin’ from ungodly hangovers.”

Jim smiled.

“You’re going back to the party?”

“Yeah, Jim. I’m going back to the party. Me bein’ there is kinda the whole point, you see.”

“It might be awful,” Jim said. Bones had a whole lifetime of buildup for his first birthday party and now Jim might fuck it up in one blow.

“It might be fun,” Bones offered.

And yes, that, of all the things that had happened in the span of ten minutes, was the most shocking of them all: Bones’ optimism making an incredibly rare appearance. Jim was stuck staring, totally blindsided.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Admiringly,” Bones snapped, his irritation at odds with smile Jim can see twitching at the corner of his mouth. He elbowed Jim in the side for good measure.

“Sorry,” Jim grinned.

They looked at each other for another moment, before Bones threw up his hands.

“Well are we going or not?” he shouted.

“We’re going, we’re going,” Jim yelled back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. But he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “Excuse me for trying to have a tenderhearted moment with you, you miserable old man.”

“Shut up,” Bones grumbled. “I ain’t gettin’ old on this ship. You can’t make me. It’ll be a—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jim said, reaching out a hand to help haul Bones to his feet. “Cold day in hell and all that. I got it.”

The doors of Observation slid open as they walked through, closing tight behind them.

“Don’t be mad at Scotty, or Christine or Uhura either,” Jim said suddenly, having remembered his co-conspirators. “They just wanted to help.”

“I did have to drag their unconscious asses to Medbay after they willingly ingested poison. So they can get a pass.”

“Ugh,” Jim scoffed. “‘Poison.’ It was _pineapple_ , you drama queen.”

“If you do it again, I will kill you myself. I literally will bring you back to life. And then murder you.”

Jim ignored him, glancing ahead to the Medbay doors.

He stopped short, throwing out an arm to stop Bones.

“If you absolutely hate it, you can leave. There’s a lot of people in there and I know you hate people I just—”

“Jim,” Bones cut in. “I won’t leave again. I promise. I may act like I don’t like it or _complain about it the entire time_ , but you have to understand that this...is kind of the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Yeah?” Jim smiled.

“Yeah,” Bones told him. He smiled too, and Jim thought it was kind of perfect.

“Okay, good,” Jim said. “Now let’s go get drunk and make fun of Spock’s hair.”

Bones put a hand to his chest.

“Ah,” he said sincerely. “A man after my heart.”

When they walked through the doors, Jim was relieved that everyone was still there, talking in hushed whispers and taking awkward sips of their drinks. They looked up at the two and froze.

Bones stopped too, glaring around at everyone, though he was looking less homicidal by the second.

Jim slapped him on the back.

“Let’s get the show on the road,” he yelled to everyone.

Bones, and everyone in the room, relaxed. The crowd went back to their conversations as Jim pushed Bones to the punch (read: “punch”).

Christine was there, looking delightfully panicked.

“Dr. McCoy, the Captain made me help,” she said, trying to hand Bones a cup as fast as she could. “I told him you wouldn’t be happy but he just kept talking until it sounded like a good idea. He’s very persuasive.”

“Oh yeah,” Bones said gruffly, taking the cup from her. “He’s a regular silver tongued devil.”

Christine shrugged as she handed Jim a cup.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head at her. “Just wow.”

 Bones took a drink from his cup, wincing slightly.

“Christ almighty, what is this?” he said, glaring at the cup.

“I don’t know!” Jim said brightly. “Scotty hasn’t said and at this point I’m too afraid to ask!”

Jim and Christine both went silent as Bones drained the glass.

“What?” he barked, refilling the cup. “You said we were gettin’ drunk.”

“That I did,” Jim sighed, before finishing his own drink in one go. “But before you do that, I have to give you your present!”

Bones raised an eyebrow.

“Was the party not my present?”

“Well, it was. But there’s something else,” Jim grinned, grabbing Bones’ drink and setting it down beside his own “Close your eyes.”

“Fuck that, I don’t trust you.”

“Bones! Just close your eyes. There aren’t any clowns here. Jesus,that was _one time_.”

“Fine!” Bones snapped. He gave a final glare before closing his eyes.

“Stay right here, I have to go get it.”

Jim pushed his way through the party, walking quickly through Bones’ office door and grabbing the pie he’d left sitting on the desk. He rushed back and set the pie on the bed.

“Okay, don’t freak out, but I’m going to feed you something.”

“What? No! I don’t know where your hands have been!”

Jim rolled his eyes. “ _Fine._ I’ll just hand it to you then. _”_

He cut the pie quickly, putting a slice on the plate Christine handed him. He cut a bite with the fork before forcing the utensil into Bones hand.

“If this that Eridani Fergrain pudding you made me try that one time, I’m going to quit.”

“Just eat it, Bones!”

Bones grunted in protest, but took the bite. He chewed thoughtfully while Jim waited, nervous.

He slowly opened his eyes, turning to Jim.

“Is this McCoy Family Pecan Pie?”

“ _Yes.”_

 Bones stared from Jim, to the empty fork in his hand, to the pie on the table, and back again.

“How _the hell_ did you do that?”

“I talked to your mama,” Jim drawled, his forced southern accent grating on his own ears. “And she was more than happy to give me the recipe for her little Lenny.”

Instead of looking embarrassed at the nickname like Jim had hoped, Bones just looked even more shocked.

“Jim,” he whispered. “She won’t even give me that recipe. What did you even say to her?”

“I don’t know? Everything?” Jim said. “We were on the phone for two hours. That woman can talk, Bones.”

Bones took another bite of the pie. “Is that the secret? The reason why Starfleet gave you your own ship? Your ability to woo 60 year old woman out of their secrets?”

“Yep. That must be it,” Jim said, finishing another cup of illicit, technically-not-even-there punch.

Bones finished his pie and got another cup.

“You should mingle, it’s expected,” Jim told somberly.

“Oh,” Bones said. “wonderful.” His voice implied it was not wonderful and was, in fact, the exact opposite of what he wanted to be doing. But, Jim knew, it was the tone of voice that really meant nothing once you are around Bones enough—once you grow familiar enough with his complaining to realize that (9 times out of 10) he is only whining for the sake of…the sake. Given long enough, Bones would probably even manage to find a way to complain about eating the pecan pie.

Bones glared around the room at everyone, before finally zeroing in on Uhura, Spock, and Chekov, talking quietly in the corner. He drained his glass and got a refill.

“I’m going in,” he said seriously. He pushed through the crowd, making a weird, disjointed beeline towards the group.

Jim finished his drink and turned back to Christine.

“All’s well that ends well, I guess,” he said. He took the ladle from her, pouring more punch.

Christine raised an eyebrow.

“Jim, that stuff is…not safe. It goes through you faster than I’ve ever seen. I’m not even entirely sure it is intended for human consumption. Maybe you and Leonard should take it easy.”

“I know how to handle myself, thank you, Christine,” he said, taking another drink. “And look! Bones is fine!”

They both looked over at Bones, who is talking animatedly with the Spock, Uhura, and Chekov. His arms were making wide, wild gestures that look like they might hit somebody at any moment.

“See? It’s good for him,” Jim gave her a sloppy smile. “It warms his gnarled little heart.”

“He does not have a gnarled heart and you know it.”

Jim’s smiled slid.

“No, you’re right,” he said. “He’s got a bigger heart than the rest of us. Because he had to eat all the cake by himself. That can’t have been good.”

Christine looked back at him.

“Are you drunk, Captain?”

Jim took another drink.

“You know what?” he said brightly. “I think I am.”

“Somebody should warn Dr. McCoy…”

“Oh, Christine,” Jim said, reaching out to pat the nurse lightly on her head. “Sweet, sweet, Christine. If this…whatever it is…is getting to me this fast, Bones is already way gone. He’s a total lightweight.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“You shouldn’t, I was lying,” Jim said. “But don’t tell Christine.”

“You got it, Jim,” Christine said with a quick thumbs-up. “I’m going to go check and make sure no one has alcohol poisoning.”

  “I’m going to—” Jim paused, looking around the room. “Not do that. I’m going to eat cake. Because Bones can’t.”

He finished his drink and headed off to…somewhere. He’d already forgotten. But it had been important.

Right?

* * *

 

_Wednesday? Morning…ish? Location ????_

 

Fuck you, Jim.

McCoy cursed the man before he even fully woke up. A preemptive insult because he knew it was deserved. He wasn’t…quite sure what had happened, but he know that, as with most hangovers, it could be traced back to Jim.

His face was stuck to something, but it didn’t really matter. He couldn’t move his head. He couldn’t even open his eyes. Not that he had had the energy to try, but still. The thing he was stuck to was soft. Which was good. And it smelled clean, which boded well, he figured. But almost too clean. It was…too much clean. Much a lot clean. Just as he felt he finally had the thrumming beat in his head under control someone kicked open a door right above him.

“Oh, shit, Bones. Are you dead?”

McCoy groaned and tried to twist away from the sound, which made everything _much a lot_ and he fell to the floor. He heard laughter, which really pissed him off. Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes.

“Jim,” he groaned, seeing the grinning face in the doorway. The kid looked like he wasn’t in pain, which was the cruelest injustice McCoy could imagine. He slowly, ever so slowly, sat upright until he was leaning against the couch. He squinted up at Jim again, noticing that he was still giggling and holding onto the doorframe.

“Oh my God,” McCoy groaned. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

In answer, Jim slid down the wall until he was seated next to McCoy. He reached out tentatively and pet the doctor’s head.

“I don’t think I feel well,” Jim said, his voice, paradoxically, chipper.

“Well, trust me, you are going to feel a whole hell of a lot worse,” McCoy told him, cradling his head in his hands. His eyes were squeezed shut again, Jim’s voice enough to cause his eyes to vibrate.

“I may throw up on you,” Jim said quietly, his voice switched completely.

If McCoy hadn’t been so dangerously close to passing out, he would have laughed. Instead, he just barely managed to grit out “I think these things are pretty safe” before sliding back to lie on the floor.

“Bones, we’re in your office!” Jim’s…Jim-like voice was back. “How did we do that?”

“I don’t know. I think I slept here. I don’t know where you have been. You just got here.”

“I don’t remember that!”

“Please stop,” McCoy snapped. “Stop what you’re doing with noise.”

Jim quieted down; low enough that all McCoy could hear was the sound of his own head being split open. They were quiet for a few moments before there was a light knock at the door.

“No,” McCoy muttered and the same time as Jim cheerily yelled “Yes?”

The door creaking open tentatively had McCoy groaning, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Christine,” he heard Jim call, before his voice dropped to a conspiring whisper. “I’m drunk. Shhhhhhhh.”

“I see that, Captain,” she whispered back. “But is Dr. McCoy alright?

 “Bonesy? He’s the best. The. Best. But you can’t tell him I said so.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay, good!”

Jim yelled the last part and McCoy made a painful grunt in the back of his throat.

“Dr. McCoy?”

He grunted again.

“Are you okay?”

“I think…I think I might be dying, Chapel.”

“I could give you something to help that, but then you’d never learn.”

“Then leave me, darlin’,” McCoy whispered. “Just leave me to die here. Please take Jim with you.”

There were footsteps, slow and tentative, that still made his head pound as they reverberated up the floor and to his skull.

“I’ll help the dehydration but that’s it,” Christine whispered, right next to his head. He felt pressure on his neck and a slight pinch.

“Ow,” he muttered miserably.

“Come here, Jim.”

“Why what are you—WHAT THE HELL!”

That sold it.

McCoy was up and moving before Jim could finish yelling, shuffling over to the corner where he kept the trash and puking violently.

“That’s gross, Bones.”

McCoy heaved again.

“Fuck you, Jim.”

 “Leonard, do you want help back to your quarters?” Christine asked quietly.

“No,” McCoy croaked, resting his head against the wall. “If I move, I’m going to pass out.”

“Okay, then. I’ll take Jim and watch him for a while.”

“No, leave him,” McCoy said.  He tried to open his eyes but failed. “He’s going to pass out soon anyways, so put him on the couch. Just come back in a little bit to make sure we haven’t asphyxiated.”

McCoy listened as Christine managed to get Jim onto the couch. Jim was strangely quiet, which probably meant he was sobering up and was headed for the same treatment that McCoy was currently being subjected to.

“Can you bring….buckets back with you, Chapel?”

“Buckets?”

“Yeah, whatever. Something for Jim to puke in.”

“Uh, sure.”

He heard her head for the door.

“Wait, Chapel,” he called quietly.

“Yes, Leonard?”

“Am I wearing pants?”

“Yes, Leonard.”

“Okay, good,” McCoy sighed. “I…was worried. I don’t really remember _a lot_ …”

“Well, you didn’t miss much. Everyone who was drinking Scotty’s alien ale got trashed and went home in under an hour. You came in here and Jim went…I don’t know where Jim went. He just kind of disappeared with the rest of the punch.”

“Jim,” McCoy groaned. “Where did you go last night?”

“Fishing!” Jim called from the couch.

“Great,” McCoy mumbled. “Okay, thanks, Chapel. Please don’t let anyone die while I am in here.”

“No promises, sir.”

McCoy hissed as the sound of the door closing bounced around the room. He reached out blindly, feeling around from the couch. Once his hand caught onto to one of the back cushions he pulled, dragging the thing back to him. He tossed it on the ground, slid onto it and sighed.

“Bones?” Jim said, his voice starting to blur around the edges.

“Yeah, Jim?”

“It’s your birthday?”

“I don’t know,” McCoy said, honestly. He had no idea what time it was.

“Well, happy birthday.”

“Next year, let’s not do this.”

“That sounds good.”

And that was all they said for a while. McCoy had managed to get his stomach to settle and was about to fall back to sleep before Jim’s voice called out again.

“Bones?”

“Mmmm?”

“You…you are the kind of person people should throw parties for. You deserve parties.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

McCoy smiled.


	19. Not Breaking the Rules (Part One)

Jim was a man of surprises.

He was stubbornly attached to the idea of being the go-to wild card in any given situation. His goddamn default setting was dedicated rebellion; that, McCoy accepted. That, he’d made peace with long ago. But while Jim seemed to gain some sick sense of pride when it came to disregarding rules, he had always had a certain understanding when it came to the preservation of a particular set of them—mainly, those Jim himself had made.

Early on during their time at the Academy, Jim had made a rule that there would be absolutely no drinking on Wednesdays. Every other day of the week was fair game, but not Wednesdays. He was weirdly strict about it. At the time, McCoy had remarked how entirely stupid and random of a rule it was but, because Jim had an incredibly magnetic and twisted way of getting what he wanted, McCoy had followed it. He had broken that rule once and only once.

McCoy had to address Jim as Captain Kirk in official settings.

They don’t talk about Chinatown. Period.

No shoes in his quarters.

Don’t leave him out of prank wars.

Don’t talk about Frank.

And as long as he doesn’t see it, whatever illicit, felonious, or frowned upon activities Scotty was up to could be ignored.

Jim never broke his own rules.

Until today when, apparently, he had finally run out of other people’s rules to break.

“Jim?”

Jim, unnervingly, continued to stare blankly back at him, his jaw twitching. McCoy slammed his hand impatiently against the wall. _They didn’t have time for this._

“ _Jim_!”

Jim finally blinked. He looked away from McCoy, instead letting his forehead briefly tip against the wall.

“Go.”

* * *

 

_Three hours earlier…_

Bones was a man of surprises.

“Seriously?”

 “Seriously.”

“You’re going to go with us?”

“Yep.”

“And I don’t have to bribe you?”

“And you don’t have to bribe me.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“What? No, I’m not fucking with you!”

“This feels like you’re fucking with me.”

Bones threw up his arms.

“Dammit, Jim! If you don’t want me to go, I won’t go!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Jim tried to calm him. “Sorry. Can you blame me for being a little skeptical about your sudden…” he paused, searching for the right word. “ _Gusto_ about going on an incredibly dangerous away mission?”

Bones rolled his eyes.

“My _gusto_ comes from the fact that this _is_ an incredibly dangerous mission. Someone is gonna get hurt and that’s kind of my specialty: patchin’ up you idiots, whether I like it or not.”

Jim nearly let Bones see his grin.

This mission _was_ going to be dangerous. People were going to be hurt and there was no one Jim wanted on his clean-up crew than Leonard McCoy.  The bad thing was, the mission contained Bones’ least favorite things: phasers, fighting, and uncertainty—there was too much spontaneity for Bones’ heart to handle.

But it also had a few of his favorite things: complaining, bitching, whining, and helping people in trouble. Jim had gone to his office, knowing that, as with most things, Bones would eventually give in to whatever Jim wanted. But he had just expected a little more _showmanship_ to it.  Bones usually made a fantastic of show of hating everything.

But he’d said _yes_ before Jim had ever even gotten around to the question.

So they were set.

Jim, Bones, and about 26 trained tactical officers were headed down to the Hada Ctale Trading outpost on Keid V in response to the distress signal sent by the station’s captain nearly two hours ago. Captain Belmont’s message had been short, vague, and cheerfully cryptic. The _Enterprise_ was the closest ship to come help them out, though it still was going to be a 3 hour warp-factor-9-Mister-Sulu trip to get there.

“Okay, Bones. You can come,” Jim finally accepted. He put his hands on the edge of the desk. “But there’s a catch. You have to follow the one rule.”

“Oh my God, I ain’t gonna throw up, Jim!”

“No, although, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about that,” he admitted. “You have to promise me you’ll stay clear of the fighting. I’ll make it an order if I have to. But you are not getting involved. We’ll bring the injured to you. I don’t even want you to have a reason for your phaser. Okay?”

“Hey, you aren’t going to hear any complaints from me,” Bones admitted, pushing up from his chair. “ _‘Do no harm’_ , remember? When we leavin’?”

“Now. Get your stuff, go throw up a couple times to get it out of your system.”

“I am not going to throw up, Jim.”

Jim looked at with steady, unapologetic eyes.

 _“Leonard,”_ he drew out.

Bones met his eye, his mouth twisting tightly for a minute before he sighed.

“Dammit, Jim,” he said, before pushing past to the office door.

 He was headed, Jim knew, to the bathroom.

* * *

 

_Back to now…_

While McCoy’s glass was rarely allowed to be half full, right now it really wasn’t even half anything. The liquid had drained steadily as soon as his feet had touched the ground on the base, leaving the glass bone dry, until another few shots from their Klingon—because of _fucking_ course it had to be Klingons— opponents had left the glass shattered. Four _Enterprise_ crewmembers were dead already, along with half the starbase crew. McCoy had at least a dozen people’s blood literally on his hands at the moment and he was well past sick of seeing people die today, thank you very much. He wasn’t about to let Lieutenant Wildner go out without a fight. According to the shouts a few other crewmen had thrown his direction, it seemed the Lieutenant had more blood outside his body than he did in it. They couldn’t move him, they were barely holding the Klingons at bay as it was. The only option was for McCoy to leave the relative safety of the Jefferies tube access panel he’d been hiding behind for the last two hours. To the casual observer, he seemed to be handling the stress fairly well. He was calm, cool, and collected as he fixed the wounds he could and cut loses when he had to—everything an ideal CMO was supposed to be. In the inside, it was kind of an internalized version of the alarms blaring around them now. He wanted to throw up, but he’d already given Jim his word he wouldn’t do it here and dammit it all, if he wasn’t going to stick to it. As everything went to shit around him, his own stupid determination seemed about the only thing he had left.

“Jim?”

Jim, unnervingly, continued to stare blankly back at him. His jaw twitched. McCoy slammed his hand impatiently against the wall. _They didn’t have time for this._

“Jim!”

Jim finally blinked. He looked away from McCoy, instead letting his forehead briefly tip against the wall.

“Go.”

McCoy nodded and jumped up. He took off running, rounding the corner in a slide that had to have looked impossibly cool. Jim and three other security officers had pinned a couple Klingons in the storage deck; now, the way McCoy saw it, it was just a matter of out drawing each other.

For everyone else, it was a matter of out drawing each other. First and foremost, McCoy’s job was simply to help out those who didn’t draw quick enough.  But he knew how to shoot and was ready. Gun dueling had started in the south, after all.

He was forced to duck as a shot flew over his head. As he straightened up, he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

“Well, that was close.”

McCoy whipped around.

“Jim, what the hell are you doing?” Jim was supposed to stay back. He had the perfect cover back at the Jefferies tube McCoy had been using.

Jim just shrugged, like finding himself nearly decapitated by a Klingon Disrupter was a genuine mystery to him as well.

“You left you safety on,” was the only explanation he gave before taking off. He threw a lofty “You coming or what?” over his shoulder.

McCoy looked around twice before switching the safety off and followed quickly, keeping low.

They were just headed to the other side of the storage deck, but between the Disrupter shots (and the occasional phaser fire) that they dodged, they dropped to halt besides Wildner’s fallen body feeling like they’d run a marathon. A totally _fucked up_ marathon.

“Jesus Christ,” McCoy muttered, pushing up his formerly blue sleeves. Wildner was bloody past recognition. The source a jagged diagonal slash across his stomach and into his chest, the handy precision only a Klingon blade could be responsible for. His eyes were open, but he hadn’t looked down when McCoy had put pressure on the wound has best he could. McCoy knew whatever help he could be was 10 minutes too late.

“Jim, check his pulse!” he yelled anyway, still warm blood slipping up between his fingers. Jim snapped into action, lifting a hand to Wildner’s neck.

He shook his head.

“He’s dead, Bones.”

And that made it five.

McCoy sat back on his heels, rubbing a hand across his face. He ignored the fire fight around them, he ignored Jim’s look, ignored the shouts and alarms, ignored everything for just a one minute. He was not here. He was back on the ship, stuck filling out inventory lists with Christine. His back’ll hurt in the morning from the way he’s leaning over to check the crates with the Metroxin. But it’s okay, because his shift is almost over. Then he can go back to his quarters and sleep.

McCoy blinked and he was back.

Jim had moved a few feet away to peer around the edge of a large shipping container, letting off a few shots here and there.

“Captain!” shouted a security officer. He was crouched behind his own box about 20 feet away. “The _USS Zhukov_ is here. Uhura sent the call to me when you didn’t answer. They said they’ve got the rest of the ship under control!”

“Lucky us!” Jim shouted back. “We get to be the heroes. Bones, run along and tell the townsfolk we’re almost ready for our parade.”

McCoy looked down at Wildner’s body one last time before calmly stepping over him to stand at Jim’s side. He unhooked the phaser from his side.

Jim immediately went wide-eyed.

“No way, McCoy! You heard Callahan. The rest of the ship is safe. Get the hell out of here!”

McCoy merely checked the settings on the gun.

“I’m already here, Jim,” was his quiet answer.

Jim grit his teeth, but turned back to the fight regardless.

McCoy ducked low to look around his own edge of the box, trying to remain as small as possible as he looked around for the source of the return shots. A shot rocked over his head, sending more chunks of wall flying. He took aim and fired, right towards the Klingon. He twisted back away from the edge of the crate before seeing if it hit.

“Are we aimin’ to kill or stun?” he asked Jim idly. Jim shot twice before turning to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

“We’re aiming just to hit, at this point.”

Jim was unhurt, miraculously, but was a ragged mess. His shirt was ripped and the dirt from the floor around them was clinging to the sweat that poured down his face. This, McCoy thought idly, was what the Starfleet recruitment pamphlet should have on their cover. It was a hell of a lot more honest than any of smiling, shiny cadets. He held back a snort. Even the cadets didn’t look like that in real life. He was entirely sure he had never smiled during his years at the Academy. And he sure as hell had never shined, in any convoluted, poetic stretch of the word. Jim shined, but it was unintentional. He shined out of spite.

“Where the hell is the crew of _Zhukov_?”

“I don’t-” Jim suddenly stopped talking, his back arching as he looked around them. His foot took a hesitant step back.

“Bones…”

McCoy lowered his gun.

“What?”

“They stopped shooting at us,” Jim whispered. Despite sounding very much like good news to McCoy, Jim’s voice was sharper and more edged than it had been the entire mission. Entirely unbecoming of shiny captains getting ready for parades.

“Why would they stop shootin’ at us?” McCoy rolled his shoulders to fight off the chill that ran down his spine, worsened by the panicked look Jim gave him.

“I told you to get out of here, Bones.”

McCoy pulled away from leaning on the crate to face Jim. He’d never been here before. Most times (and yes, the _Enterprise_ had enough standoffs with unfriendlies for McCoy to actually be able to differentiate “most times”), McCoy was far away from this point, back on the ship in his Medbay with his nurses and his _security._ To be honest, he’s not liking it. At all. It offends him, on a deep personal level. But there was Jim.

His mother always told him that couldn’t jump off bridges just because his friends did. _No, mama, of course not_ , he’d said. And he still, 33 years in, wouldn’t jump off a bridge for anyone in the world.

Cliffs in red Nibiru forests, however, were an entirely separate matter. Because _it was Jim_ , dragging him along and making sure he ducked and grinning at him as they fell.

Because with Jim, there wasn’t a lot McCoy would do stop him.

“Like hell am I leavin’ you here!”

“Bones just lis-”

Again, Jim’s words were cutoff.

“Did you feel that?” he asked instead, pushing off the crate and giving it a glare.

“Feel _what_?”

“Shhh!” Jim snapped, sliding quietly to look around the edge of the crate. “Stay still.”

 _Stay still,_ McCoy would repeat to himself later. _Stay still, stay out of trouble, don’t throw up, don’t leave Jim, be shiny._ Those were the things that stuck. His life didn’t flash before his eyes because he wasn’t a horrid cliché and this wasn’t a story. He just held onto the things that had seemed most important to him at that given moment, the moment he looked up and knew Jim was never going to forgive him.

He locked eyes with the Klingon, perched (coincidentally enough) like a bird of prey on top of the crate next to him just before it jumped off. Of all the things he could do in the half a second he was given to come to terms with this recent development, freaking out was among the worse.

But, alas.

McCoy tensed instinctively, the phaser slipping from his hand because sometimes he _was_ a horrid cliché. The Klingon yelled as he fell towards McCoy, a ragged sound that, McCoy unfortunately knew, would probably be the last thing he ever heard.

“BONES!”

Well, damn. How about that?

And then Jim was there, running full-sprint at him and pushing him in the back. McCoy slammed the ground hard enough to see space (wow, thanks for that) the impact rough and angled across his ribs. He grit his teeth against the bounce his body made against the floor. He blinked heavily, clearing his head as he looked back.

“JIM!”

The Klingon was finishing its fall, but Jim was already down. He stumbled from the force of pushing McCoy out of the way, and there wasn’t enough time to fix it. The Klingon landed and rolled atop of him, pinning Jim with his body weight. Neither Jim nor McCoy had time to make a noise before the blade was shoved into his back.

McCoy was done hesitating.

He grabbed the phaser that had skidded a few feet away, waited until the Klingon reared up with his knife for another hit, and pulled the trigger. Its guttural yell was echoing when McCoy reached Jim’s side. He kicked the Klingon’s body away roughly.

“Jim,” McCoy breathed. Jim was yelling broken words, twisting away from the hands McCoy set on him. Jim looked up at him, or tried to. His eyes kept slipping to the side.

“B-Bones,” he whispered. 

 “Eyes on me,” McCoy answered, ripping a chunk of Jim’s shirt that remained gold and applying it to the jagged cut near his spine. “Eyes on me, Jim.”

Jim arched off the ground as McCoy pushed down on the wound, his nails attempting to grip the floor.

“I know,” McCoy whispered.

There was blood everywhere, staining the knees of McCoy’s pants as he kneeled closer.

“Dammit, Jim! Stay with me.”

Jim couldn’t do it, McCoy knew that objectively. His eyes were already too glazed over. McCoy pressed the wound again.

“Dr. McCoy!”

McCoy looked up to see Sulu sliding to a stop beside him. The Lieutenant’s eyes widened at he looked down at them.

“Get us back to the ship _now_ ,” McCoy emphasized.

Numbly, Sulu nodded, pausing a half a second as his fingers fumbled for the communicator in his pocket.

“Jim, we’re going back to the ship,” McCoy said. “Stay awake til we get back to the ship.”

Jim was screaming, looking at McCoy and not even seeing him. Sulu was yelling on the phone, trying to be heard over his captain’s sobs. McCoy wiped the sweat of his forehead with his free hand, leaving Jim’s blood smeared across his face.

 _Don’t throw up_ , he repeated. _Don’t throw up._

Jim sagged back, his yells dying out as his eyes slipped closed.

McCoy reached out and slapped his cheek.

“Jim, no. You gotta stay awake. You gotta stay with me,” he whispered. He slapped harder. “ _Jim._ ”

He felt the transporter lock on.

* * *

 

McCoy was furious.

He pushed the entire contents of his desk off with a yell, leaving him feeling vindictively satisfied as they crashed across the room. He pushed the chair over next, followed by the PADDs in the corner.

Out of things to destroy, he settled for slamming his hand down on the empty surface of his desk. Once, twice, three times and it was finally starting to have an effect on the hollow pit in his gut.

“Dr. McCoy!”

He nearly growled as he whipped around.

Christine’s face was pinched as she stepped through the office door, shutting it behind her quietly and leaning against the frame.

“Leonard,” she said gently.

_“What?”_

She folded her arms as she raised an eyebrow.

“Leonard,” she repeated.

McCoy deflated, sitting heavily against the edge of his desk, the only thing still standing in the office.

“I know,” he sighed.

Jim wasn’t dead. McCoy had spent two hours in surgery with him to make sure of that. He wasn’t dead, but he’d goddamn made that a difficult thing to achieve. Klingon blades were vicious and serrated and were designed to hurt in the worst ways possible. The Klingon McCoy had killed had made sure to twist the knife in Jim’s back, leaving a torn and jagged path of destruction through Jim’s internal organs. Twice they’d lost him on the operating table. _Twice._

McCoy was tired. He was just so fucking tired.

Christine watched him silently for a few minutes, probably just to make sure his temper tantrum didn’t cause any more property damage. Finally, she pushed off the frame of the door with her shoulder and took two steps to bring her face to face with McCoy. Deftly, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly.

McCoy looked up her. That was a nice sentiment. It really was. _It’s okay, we saved him this time. It’s okay, he’s alive. You did your job. We get to keep our captain._ He reached up gently and pushed her hands away from him.

“No, it’s not,” he said and walked out the door.

Everyone in Medbay did a remarkably unsubtle job of pretending they hadn’t heard his meltdown.

“You’re in charge,” he grunted, not even looking back to make sure Toll heard him before leaving Medbay completely.

* * *

 

Jim was furious.

He just really didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He was not particularly lucid at that point, but he was aware enough to feel very cold hands poking hard against his side.

“Mmm. St’p.”

The hands kept poking.

He grunted again and tried to shift away.

“Bones, st’p it. Cu’it o’t,” he rasped.

“Sorry, Captain.”

That has Jim prying his eyes open because that voice was decided female and decidedly _not Bones_.

It was blurry. Everything was blurry and shifting rapidly, refusing to let him focus on anything. He blinked but it only made it worse. What was he trying to do again?

“Captain?” the voice asked. A voice not male and not Bones. Right. Riggghhht.

“Not…Bones?” he said, and even managing that simple sentence made him out of breath.

“Captain, are you in any pain?”

It was a simple enough question but Jim really couldn’t get his brain wrapped around what he was supposed to do with it. He felt disconnected, the words too big for his body. Was he expected to respond? Questions usually had answers, right?

“An…swer?”

“Okay,” the voice sighed. The not Bones voice. He’s looking now, staring at the voice, not comprehending anything as her mouth keeps moving. More questions?

Bones would know how to handle questions. He’s sure of it.

The best solution would be to go to sleep and deal with all of…whatever the voice wanted…when Bones got here.

The voice was louder, but Jim was in no way listening…

The next time Jim woke up he could actually form sentences. Real sentences, with subjects and verbs and syllables.

He watched Christine quietly adjust some settings on the panel beside his head, her mouth quirked in a little frown—nothing, Jim knew, compared to the scowl that Bones was probably extra specially preparing for him right now. But, if Jim had to wake up to one grumpy pretty face, he’d much rather it be Christine’s. Her bedside manner was remarkably less… _loud and violent_ than the good doctor’s. Jim frowned then too, finally allowing the fact that it was Christine at his bedside to sink in.

“You’re not Dr. McCoy,” Jim finally said. He tried to be quiet, but he still managed to make Christine do a small jump backwards.

“Captain,” she answered, eyes wide. “You’re awake.”

“And alive, apparently,” Jim grunted, shifting in the bed and hissing sharply—every inch of his body hurt in that exceptional way that could only come from being alive.

Christine’s face broke out in a tired smile.

“Yes, you’re alive. _Barely_ ,” she added darkly.

Jim let out a low whistle.

“That bad, huh?”

Christine nodded.

“That bad,” she agreed, pulling idly at the threads of the biobed’s blanket.

“The Klingons?” Jim asked, not really remembering much of…anything, really. Bones had been there. Bones had fell? Wait, no, Jim had fallen?

“Dead. Or in prison. Or some variation thereof,” Christine said, shaking her head darkly. “You all were very, very lucky, Captain.”

“How many did we-”

Christine shook her head again.

“Jim,” she said softly. “We’ve just established that you are _barely_ alive. Let’s just focus on keeping you that way for a bit.”

Jim rubbed a hand across his face. She was right and he knew it, and she knew that he knew it.

“Do you have to get Bones?” Jim asked suddenly, changing topics and stopping her with a hand on her wrist. “He tends to get a little…yelly…when I’m here. I’m good with waiting another few minutes for that. Or you be my doctor. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

That earned him an amused laugh.

“Not a chance,” she said soberly. “Being your nurse is hell enough. Besides, you’re in luck. Dr. McCoy isn’t on duty. I’ll go get Dr. Toll to-”

Jim snorted.

“Yeah, right, Christine. Bones is never _not_ on duty, so you gotta try harder than that to get me. I should have known you were in cahoots with Bones,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “Go ahead and get him, if you must. He’s probably been practicing his rant in the mirror the last few hours anyway, beside himself with excitement over all the new ways he’s found to call me an idiot.”

Ooh, that was a good line. He’d have to repeat it to Bones once he got there. After he’d calmed down, obviously. Jim liked pushing Bones’ buttons, but he wasn’t suicidal. Interrupting one temper tantrum would surely lead to a divergent temper tantrum that would be at least 10 times worse, with an added dose of metaphors and southern colloquialisms shouted at him. Not recommended.

Jim grinned up at Christine.

“You’re probably right,” she said seriously. “Though, if he is, it’s in the comfort of his own quarters. He put Dr. Toll in charge hours ago.”

Well that didn’t make sense. Bones would never miss out on a chance to verbally castrate Jim. He _lived_ for it. Jim had always highly suspected Bones had agreed to be his CMO only for the benefit of having an official reason to yell at him. Jim let go of Christine’s wrist.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Christine smiled lightly before stepping away towards the other side of the room, where Jim could see Toll picking through a pile of PADDs. Jim really didn’t know a lot about the man, apart from the stories Bones had told him occasionally. Never had the chance. Why would he? The doctor he’s had the last six years was very persistent and liked to have a monopoly on Jim’s healthcare.

“Captain,” Toll greeted. Jim smiled tiredly. As much as he had joked with Christine, Jim was still feeling horribly uncomfortable. His back, especially, felt like it had been ripped open. Tolls pale hands began tapping away at the scanners above Jim’s head. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh,” Jim replied dumbly. “Klingons on Keid V. We were pinned down in storage. But that’s about it.”

Toll nodded. “That’s to be expected. Apart from everything else, you received a grade three concussion, its results being an acute temporary loss of consciousness.”

Jim raised an eyebrow over Toll’s shoulder.

“You got hit on the head and passed out. That’s not very good,” Christine said gently. Jim nodded.

“Right,” Toll said, glancing between the two with a pinched face. “It took quite a while in surgery. You had perforated lacerations along your tem-”

“You took a Klingon knife to the back,” Christine interrupted. “It punctured a lung and tore through some organs on its way out.”

“Ah, that explains the throbbing, Klingon knife-shaped wound I am feeling,” Jim mumbled. His energy was slipping by the second. “When can I get out?”

Toll and Christine shared another look.

“That’s up to Dr. McCoy,” Toll told him before whispering some quiet instructions to Christine. Jim blinked slowly, meeting Christine’s eyes as she nodded at whatever Toll was telling her.

“Sleep well, Captain,” the older doctor said, smiling in a way that left Jim a little bit less secure in his bed. He walked away, heading to the back office. _Bones’ office._

Jim rubbed at his face again.

“Christine,” he said quietly. “Where is Bones?”

Christine’s hands resumed their restless twisting of the sheet edges.

“Dr. McCoy is off duty,” she said quickly.

“So you’ve said,” Jim sighed. “But when has that ever stopped him?”

Jim hurt. His body was tired. He just wanted to know where the hell Bones was and everyone was giving him the runaround. Bones was here, he was always _here_ and being off official duty meant nothing to him most days. He liked to sit with any unconscious patient, meticulously monitoring their vitals and talking quietly to them when they woke up. Because he cared. Because he loved his job. Because for someone so determinedly against it, Leonard McCoy was an incredibly good person.

So where the hell was he?

Jim was his friend. His _best_ friend on this ship, he thought. So why would he choose now to go off duty? Maybe Jim was being selfish. Maybe the drugs in his system made him whiny and pouty and he was just overacting. Bones had been on that mission too, he was probably wiped out.

“Wait,” Jim said. “Was he okay?”

He vaguely remembered pushing Bones out of the way of something. Someone? Questions?

Christine waited to answer until she’d pulled a chair away from the bed next door and sat down by Jim’s head.

“He’s fine,” she shrugged. “Like I said, Jim. You were incredibly lucky to have made it back to this ship alive. He’s pretty shaken up. We all don’t have the nerves of a certain heroically suicidal captain.”

Jim smiled lightly. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open now.

“Go to sleep, Jim,” she said, pushing the chair back and standing up. She pulled a hypo from the tray beside his head. “Or I will put you to sleep.”

 _Christine, what the hell?_ Jim asked. Not out loud, apparently. He couldn’t quite get the right muscles to move.

“the’ell?”

Christine patted his arm with a pretty smile.

His eyes closed.

 


	20. Not Talking to You (Part Two)

Fact: A lot of the Enterprise’s missions don’t end with a quick hand shake and a diplomatic smile. McCoy knew this because it was his job to make sure those people who returned afterwards sort of continued on living. And yeah, that was kind of a shit job to have. It was definitely something the recruiter hadn’t mentioned to him when getting him to enlist. He’d talked about saving worlds and discovering the wonders of the universe or some bullshit like that. McCoy hadn’t really been listening. He may have had a little (read: a lot) to drink before sitting down at that particular meeting. He’d told the guy to save his shtick for the twenty-something adrenaline junkies Starfleet seemed to recruit by the dozen; he was in Starfleet to save lives, not to bring about world peace. It was a nice sentiment, but McCoy wasn’t buying it. He’d signed the contract and left to get truly smashed at a bar before getting on the shuttle the next morning; the idea being that he’d still be drunk when he got in the damn thing and be less inclined to have a panic attack at the slightest bump. He could sleep through the whole thing.

But that didn’t happen. Because some twenty-something adrenaline junkie had the balls the plop down next to him. And somewhere between sharing his whiskey and throwing up on the kid’s shoes, McCoy had found himself a best friend, whether he liked it or not (he did, but he didn’t have to let Jim know that).

Jim was there on the first day of the rest of McCoy’s life. He was the first person who didn’t look at him like he was some sad drunk or some sad ex-husband or some sad cantankerous asshole, despite learning all of that in the first five minutes of meeting him. Jim saw him as more than the sum of his parts. And to a sad, drunken ex-husband with a bad attitude, that sure meant a lot.

It wasn’t easy being friends with Jim. Oh, no. McCoy could write a fucking _book_ on the giant cautionary tale that was James Tiberius Kirk. He learned quickly that when the kid decides he likes you enough to keep you around, your life sort of becomes entirely reactionary to his; you get sucked in by hidden genius, disguised beneath rampant immature charm and cocky grins and pretty soon you find yourself getting detained by SFPD for streaking.

McCoy knows he isn’t a smart man. He thought he was, before joining Starfleet. But his first semester there, he realized that he just might actually be the dumbest person this side of the galaxy. Because a smart man would have booked it far away from Jim the second after realizing how much trouble he was going to be. And what did McCoy do?

He let the idiot move in with him.

And then he followed him into space.

See? Not very smart. In fact, it was pretty damn stupid of him to do that. He should have never have agreed to follow Jim anywhere, never have agreed to be his doctor, and never agreed to go to some starbase under Klingon attack. 

Because that’s how you end up with your best friend in front of you on an operating table without a pulse.

This was another thing the recruiter could have tried to work into his pitch at some point. Shoot for a little bit of romantic realism.

McCoy crept quietly as he reached the Medbay doors, somehow trying to will the doors not to make their trademark pneumatic squeak as they opened. Medbay was deserted, apart from one nurse. She looked up from her PADD briefly as he walked in, before turning back, uninterested. Seeing the CMO in Medbay _was_ uninteresting, even if it was at three in the morning and he was walking around like a goddamn spy.

He tip-toed over to the only occupied bed, lit by a single low light on the wall. Jim was asleep, he knew that. He’d been monitoring his vitals from his room ever since he’d left. He waited until Jim had been asleep for a couple hours before chancing to come down. He didn’t want to risk Jim waking up when he was here. He really didn’t want to see Jim at all right now, but he was a doctor first, pissed off second.

Because yeah, he was pissed at Jim. Beyond pissed. He honestly couldn’t think of another time in his life when he had ever been angrier at a person, and that was saying a lot for him.

He gently leaned against the biobed next to Jim’s, folding his arms and glaring across at him.

Jim shouldn’t be here. He had pushed McCoy out of the way of that Klingon blade like the noble idiot that he was always going to be. He was only here because he carelessly tried to throw his life away for an idiot who’d frozen in the middle of an attack. Jim had a habit of doing shit like that all the time. He was the hero, always. He jumped in front of triggers for a fucking living.

McCoy was getting _really_ sick of it.

Jim twisted in his sleep and McCoy immediately pushed off the bed and headed out the door.

* * *

 

Fact: Bones hadn’t been eating in the cafeteria the last few days. Jim knew this because he made it his business to know this. He was the Captain. He knew everything that happened aboard this ship.

He also may have been staking out the place for hours at time, but that really wasn’t important.

Bones hadn’t been the caf in three days at least. Jim had been out of Medbay the last three days. Coincidence?

He folded his arms and continued his glare at the door. From his position in the corner most table, he wouldn’t be spotted right away. He could trap Bones and then ambush him before he had a chance to get away. The trick was to remain absolutely stealth and uninterrupted.

“You’re an idiot.”

Uhura was calmly sipping soup in the chair beside him.

Jim huffed indignantly. “I’m not the idiot. _He’s_ the idiot.”

“You could just go to his quarters and talk to him like a normal, functioning adult.”

“But where would be the fun in that?” Jim glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Uhura set down her spoon with a snap.

“It isn’t supposed to be fun, Jim,” she said. “He’s angry at you for a very good reason. A stupid reason, but a very good one to him.”

“I know. Well…I don’t know,” Jim sighed, turning his glare straight on her. “Because you won’t tell me.”

Uhura shrugged.

“If he wanted you to know, he would have told you. And if you wanted to know so bad, you could ask him.”

Jim threw up his arms as dramatic as his aching back would allow.

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“No, you’re trying to trick him into talking to you again. Instead of just respecting that he has things he doesn’t want to share with you.”

“Well that’s ridiculous,” Jim snapped. “He’s mad at me, I deserve to know why. I need to know how much bourbon I’m going to need to fix it.”

Uhura laughed. A sharp sound that lacked any humor. He kind of heard that from her a lot.

“That’s your problem, Kirk,” she said, grabbing her tray and standing up from her chair. “Normal people’s problems aren’t fixed with cheap alcohol and dumb jokes.”

Jim turned back to keep his eyes on the door.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lieutenant,” he said. “Besides, bourbon is not cheap. Give this a week and it’ll blow over.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” she said, “Whatever you say. I’ll tell Captain Spock you said hello.”

“Acting Captain!” Jim snapped. “I’m back on duty tomorrow. Or the day after that. Soon.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” she repeated.

As Jim watched her out the door, he let his hands drop from his chest. Uhura’s words made him realize there was a slight, barely-there, blink-and-you’d-miss-it chance that she might be possibly right. Maybe. Whatever he’d done to piss Bones off seemed to have done so far more thoroughly than usual. He might have to fall on more tactical measures to fix this.

The problem was, he was practically working in the dark here. He had no idea what the hell he’d done to deserve this. It had been bad. Really bad. That much was obvious. Bones had requested time off of Medbay’s rotation, finally getting use out of all those day sick days he had stored up. So he hadn’t been there the entire time Jim had been stuck in the bed. Whenever Jim asked Christine for him, she had very fluently lied, saying Bones wasn’t feeling well and was in his quarters.

It was bullshit and Jim was not having it.

Bones was avoiding him. That was the quick and dirty of it. He was apparently so dedicated in his silent treatment that he had even sunk so low as to use the food replicator in his room instead of coming to the caf. Bones had once yelled at Jim until he was blue in the face about how the replicators were going to be the downfall of the entire ship. Or something. Jim hadn’t really been listening. The point was, Bones never used the replicator in his room. But, his anger at Jim had apparently outweighed his stubborn morals on this issue.

So he wasn’t coming to the caf in fear of running into Jim. But when Jim had been locked down in Medbay, he’d come in at least once to have lunch with Uhura after she had invited him. He had turned Uhura into his confidant but she wasn’t willing to give Jim any information on the subject. Bones trusted her.

Hmm. Interesting.

He pushed away from the table and headed for the door.

* * *

 

McCoy was halfway through reorganizing his bookshelf for the third time in as many days when his PADD chirped cheerfully from his bed. He set down the handful of hardbacks he had and picked it up.

 **13:54. Message from Lt. N. Uhura to Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy.  
** _Lunch tomorrow?_

 

McCoy’s eyes narrowed. It’s not that Uhura asking him to lunch was strange. They were friends. But she was also friends with Jim. He quickly jabbed out a response.

 **13:55. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.  
** _Can’t. Busy._

 

McCoy knew Jim had a certain charm that, more often than not, led to him getting what he wanted. Uhura wasn’t one to fall for it easily, but that didn’t mean she was immune. Jim had this… _charm_ that could stun a horse at fifty paces. He very rarely resorted to, because that made the game too easy. McCoy didn’t know what “the game” actually was but he _was_ sure he probably didn’t want to know.

**13:55. Message from Lt. N. Uhura to Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy.  
** _Leonard, you can’t stay in your quarters forever. Jim won’t be there, I promise._

But she also wasn’t one to break promises.

**13:55. Message from Lt. Cdr. L. McCoy to Lt. N. Uhura.  
** _Alright, I guess. Meet me there at 12._

 

He tossed the tablet back onto the sheets before picking up the books again.

* * *

 

Okay, so Uhura didn’t really send that message. Jim felt bad about that. But he’d come up with a plan to fix that after his current, more important, plan was in the clear. He was also going to talk to the systems department about how ridiculously easy it had been.

Crouched in the doorway, he watched Bones slowly step out of the lift before heading for the cafeteria doors. Jim grinned triumphantly.

He loved it when plans turn out exactly as easy as he’d anticipated. It was nice change-up. He waited five minutes, letting Bones get his food and find a table, before strolling in, casual and with a nod of the head at every passing crewman as he grabbed his own tray.

Bones was too preoccupied picking the tomatoes out of his salad to realize the (the metaphorical) trap was closing in around him. Jim plopped down in the seat across from him with a smirk.

Bones blinked up at him. Once, twice, three times before finally setting down his fork with a snap.

“You hacked into Uhura’s account to send that message. She’s going to kill you.”

Jim waved his hand.

“That’s beside the point,” he said. “I did, is the point. Because I had to. You’re just as guilty as me. You made me do it!”

“Goodbye, Captain,” Bones said simply, pushing against the edge of the table.

“Bones, wait,” Jim said desperately. “Give me five minutes.”

Bones looked at him. He looked ready to growl or to bite, but his eyes are bloodshot and heavy. He sagged back into his chair abruptly.

“You have three.”

There was a pinched way Bones was setting his shoulders, like he was physical restraining himself from something. That’s not Bones’ style. Bones is all wild gestures and shouted drawls when he’s angry. His temper takes up as much space as he manage, filling up around a room in an oppressive heat. It’s commanding. This new restrained struggle to keep himself in, without all the huffing and puffing, should have Jim worried. But no, the development has him intrigued.

“You’re avoiding me,” Jim says quietly. He kept his own words and body in check, afraid any sudden move might spook Bones.

Bones, for his part, didn’t try to deny it. He merely continued to stare at Jim like he’s speaking another language. A disgusting other language, apparently.

“You took time off specifically so you wouldn’t see me while I was in Medbay. And now you only eat in the caf when you think I’m not around,” Jim continued.

Bones leaned forward slightly.

“I took time off because I earned time off, Captain,” his voice was low, and eerily calm.

“Right,” Jim said. “So you’re really not going to tell me why you’re mad at me? We’re really going to do this?”

Bones folded his arms and glared at the wall over Jim’s head.

Jim sighed.

“Fine. Whatever,” he said. “At least eat your lunch.”

“Not hungry,” Bones grumbled.

“I insist,” Jim snapped. He picked up an orange from his tray. “Here. I know how much doctors hate apples. I got you an orange.”

He tossed it at Bones, who caught it with a scowl.

“No thanks, Captain,” he shoved the fruit back at Jim.

“Stop calling me Captain,” Jim hissed, sending the orange back even more forcefully.

“ _Stop being a dick_.”

The orange came back harder.

“Just tell me what I did, Bones!”

He threw the orange, catching Bones straight in the chest and causing the doctor to grunt. Jim eyes widened as the noise turned into a growl. Bones curved the orange as he pushed it back at Jim, bypassing his hands and hitting him straight in the face.

Bones kicked his chair back.

“ _Leave me alone_ ,” he said, before storming past the hushed crowd to the door.

All eyes turned to Jim.

He ignored them and jumped up from his own chair, not having to yell very loud for his voice to echo around the stunned silent room.

“No more oranges on this ship. They’re officially banned,” he said. A few open-mouthed crewmen nodded at him.

“As you were!” he added, before stomping out the doors as well.

* * *

 

“I may beat you to death with my bare hands.”

There were better ways to be greeted on the Bridge. Jim merely shrugged past the fuming lieutenant with a salute.

“I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it, Lieutenant,” he told her. He turned his eyes to Spock, sitting rigidly in his chair. The Vulcan looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you positive you are healed enough to return, Captain? Dr. McCoy has cleared you?”

Jim scowled.

“Well he didn’t say no,” he mumbled, dropping into the seat with a wince as soon as Spock was out of it. Jim hadn’t expressly asked Bones if it was okay. In fact, he hadn’t even seen the man since the…incident …in the caf two days ago. But the official log had Bones coming back on duty today after his hissy fit-induced vacation, so Jim had thought _what the hell_ and made his way to alpha shift. If his doctor had a problem with it, he could march his unhappy ass up to the Bridge and tell Jim himself.

Spock gave him a lingering look before heading back to his own chair in the back.

Whatever. Spock probably knew the reason Bones was mad at him. Jim always suspected the Vulcan to be among one of the biggest gossips aboard the ship, but he hadn’t been able to truly test his theory.

He ran his hands along the armrests of the chair with a grin. It had been a long week out of it and he couldn’t wait to make up for lost time. Maybe a little quick trip to Alcor III would cheer him up. Jim always was a sucker for a good radioactive moon. Or they go head out to a completely uninhabited planet. Before the Klingons had decided to be all Klingon-y on the starbase, Jim had been in deep talks with the ship’s cartographers about a couple of unknown planetoids near the neutral zone that looked like an adventure waiting to happen.

“Um. Captain?”

Jim looked back at Uhura with a grin. “Yes?”

“There’s-uh-there’s a call from Medbay coming in.”

Of course there was.

Jim folded his arms.

“Patch it through.”

There was a pause, long enough that Jim honestly began thinking that Bones might have called just to further his silent treatment, because he was crotchety old bastard who would do something like that.

“Captain, it’s Chapel.”

He still didn’t let his voice sound any less suspicious.

“Christine,” he greeted. “What’s up?”

“Well, Captain, I’m sorry about this,” she apologized. “But Dr. McCoy has a message for Captain Spock.”

“Spock’s no longer acting captain,” Jim corrected.

“See, sir, that’s the message,” Christine said quietly. “He wanted me to tell Spock that he is, in fact, still captain because- _oh for God’s sake, I can’t do this_!”

She broke off as someone began whispering fiercely on her side of the connection.

When she came back on the line her voice was incredibly deeper and had a twangy southern drawl.

“Captain Kirk is not cleared for duty,” Bones’ voice echoed around the room. “His vitals are still off and he should be resting in his quarters. He shouldn’t be anywhere near the Bridge.”

 _“What?”_ Jim snapped, rising from his seat as quickly as his back would allow. “You’re _grounding_ me, Dr. McCoy?”

“As this ship’s _commanding medical officer_ , it is my _opinion_ that Captain Kirk is not ready for duty,” Bones continued as if Jim hadn’t spoken, his voice razor sharp. “His injuries are still too severe.”

As Jim began adamantly shaking his head, Spock stood quickly.

“When can the captain return to duty, doctor?”

Jim clenched his fists. Waiting for it.

“Three days. Maybe four,” Bones said, so nonchalantly and casual that Jim wanted to reach across the computer and pinch him. “McCoy out.”

The line went silent.

Jim’s mouth opened indignantly, but he was so angry, words escaped him. Instead he could do nothing but stare at the speaker, his breathing heavy.

No one moved. No one besides him seemed to even be breathing. Jim flexed his hands a couple more times, letting his anger subside enough that he could see straight before looking at Spock.

“Your chair, Captain,” Jim said simply, exaggerating the movements as he gestured towards his seat.

He waited for Spock’s nod before walking into the lift with as much dignity as he could.

* * *

 

Christine looked up at him from the doorway.

“That wasn’t very nice, Leonard.”

McCoy snorted.

“Starfleet didn’t hire me to be nice,” he said. He rolled his shoulders. If Christine wanted to get into this, he’d damn well get into it. He was itching for a fight and he wasn’t particular as to the specifics. “They hired me to take care of their goddamn precious Captain Kirk. If Jim wants to be an idiot and get himself hurt, fine! _Whatever._ He can go nuts. But he is going to have to face the consequences afterwards like an adult.”

 “Well maybe if _you_ ,” she pointed angrily at him “had been here to tell him that, he would understand. But no. You left.”

McCoy scowled.

“Dismissed, Nurse Chapel,” he growled. “Get back to work.”

Christine leveled a glare at him before slamming the door behind her.

Let her be mad. Let Jim be mad. Let the whole damn ship be mad at him. He didn’t care. He was in charge of all things medical on this ship and he wasn’t allowing Jim back to work. His back was still a patchwork of healing skin. His vitals were still off. And, even though he would never admit it, the idiot had to be in an extraordinary amount of pain. If this was the thanks he was going to get for doing his fucking job, than Starfleet had another thing coming. He kicked out viciously as he passed his desk, hitting the hardened metal roughly.

It hurt, but he was too angry to care.

* * *

 

_Two weeks later._

Nyota was so past being done with this shit.

“Oh my God, stop. You’re going to throw your neck out,” she snapped at Jim. He was seated across from her and kept twisting to look over his shoulder every few seconds. Dr. McCoy was seated at the table two down from theirs, eating dinner with Chekov and Nurse Greyson. All three men looked miserable.

Nyota could relate.

Being around either Jim or Leonard these last two weeks had felt like being sucked into a rainy day. It didn’t even rain in space. The whole ship was feeling the effects of the pair’s mutually rotten attitudes. Everyone was snippy and passive-aggressive in ways that they never had been before. Even Spock had seen fit to snap at Nyota on her way out the door this morning.

_Even. Spock._

She watched Jim completely ignore her words and continue to compulsively look back at McCoy.

“Jim, seriously. He’s not having fun without you. No one on this ship is having any fun,” she added bitterly.

Jim huffed angrily.

“I don’t care if he’s having fun without me!”

“Yeah you do.”

Jim put his head in his hand.

“Yeah, I do,” he sighed. “It just sounds so freakily codependent when you say it out loud.”

Nyota raised an eyebrow. “Wow, codependency? You two? That’s crazy.”

“Whatever. I tried to fix it, but he shot me down at threw citrus at my face,” Jim complained. “And then he threw me off the Bridge because he wanted to rub it in a little bit more.”

“‘Tried to fix it?’” Nyota snorted. “Jim, you hacked into my messaging account and tricked him into meeting you, then proceeded to be an ass. Can you blame him for not being exactly thrilled? And he didn’t take you off duty on some weird power trip. He was being a doctor. It’s kind of his job. I don’t know if he’s mentioned it.”

“Whatever,” Jim repeated, throwing another glare over his shoulder.

“Seriously, Jim,” Nyota said, reaching across the table to put a hand on his arm. “I’m telling you this first as your friend and second as a member of this crew: fix it. I don’t care what you do. I don’t care how. Just fix it.”

“But I don’t even know what I did! That’s the problem!”

Nyota’s face pinched as she herself glanced over his shoulder at Leonard’s table. Chekov and Greyson had both left, leaving the doctor to stab moodily at his salad in peace. It was the saddest thing Nyota had ever seen in her life.

“I’ll give you a hint: you died on the operating table,” she said.

Jim frowned.

“I know. I read the report,” he told her.

She shook her head.

“You’re not getting it!” she said, barely able to keep from yelling at him. No wonder McCoy wanted to strangle him. “You almost died because you pushed Leonard out of the way. He feels guilty—he feels embarrassed.”

“What?” Jim snapped. “That’s insane! Blaming himself for me getting hurt is-it’s…it’s egotistical!”

Nyota threw up her hands.

“Tell him that!” she said. “And work in a promise not to jump in front of any more knives for people. He’s not very happy in general about that.”

“But that’s the job!”

“Jim, he’s your best friend,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “We’ve already established how freakily codependent you two are. It’s adorable in a sick way. Imagine how you would feel if it was him constantly throwing himself into dangerous situations.”

“But-”

“Do you remember that time you died?” She snapped. “Because we all do. Because that was an actual thing that happened. And then that stunt you pulled with the Meantalles-”

“Hey! I didn’t-”

“Just think about how he felt. How he always feels when it’s you getting dragged into his Medbay.  What would you do if it were him?”

Jim was quiet.

 “Exactly,” Nyota said to his silence, picking up her plate and pushing back her chair. “Now fix it and I might be able to overlook the fact that you hijacked my PADD.”

But Jim wasn’t looking at her. He was still frowning at the tabletop.

Nyota let her hand drop onto his shoulder briefly as she passed.

* * *

 

McCoy had abandoned any pretenses of working.

He was sitting in his office, a bottle of extremely old whiskey at his elbow.

And he was brooding.

He was an excellent brooder by nature and tonight he was really outdoing himself. It was enjoying a particularly nice resentful brood when there was a quiet knock on his door.

“Busy,” he yelled.

The door swung open and Jim Kirk was standing in his doorway, an incredibly old bottle of Bourbon to match McCoy’s.

“Ah, hell,” McCoy groaned. “Go away, Jim.”

But Jim had never really seen fit to do what McCoy wanted. Instead, he pulled up the chair on the other side of the desk.

* * *

 

Jim stayed.

That’s what they do. They always stay, because they became friends at a particular point in their lives when no one else did.

He reached up and placed the bottle he’d brought next to the whiskey already on the table.

He had never really been one to brood. But, by the looks of the office, it looked like Bones had been up to a good ol’ fashioned one.

Bones glared at him, but there really wasn’t any bite to it. After a pause, he pulled a glass from his drawer and slid it over to Jim. As Jim poured himself a glass, Bones continued just to stare at him. He hated that stare and never really knew what to do with it. He waited until Jim had put the top back on the bottle and leaned back in his chair to break the silence.

“So I have this friend,” he said quietly. “Really smart kid. Incredibly good at his job and pretty much anything he sets his mind to.”

“Good looking?” Jim couldn’t help but ask.

Bones shrugged.

“He thinks he is,” he said. “Anyways, like I said, he’s really good at his job. Because he’s an idiot.”

“Or he’s a hero.”

“Or he’s both,” Bones said, tipping his glass slightly in Jim’s direction. Jim would take what he could get. “But the damn kid can’t stop. He can’t stop sacrificing himself like the heroic idiot that he is. And I’m a doctor, it’s my job to patch him up time and time again. It’ll always _be_ my job to patch him up and that’s fine, that’s what friends are for. But then right as I’m starting to get _really_ tired of watchin’ him try to throw his life away, he turns around and tries to do it for me.” He looked down at his glass.

“That sounds pretty shitty,” Jim sighed.

“Yeah.”

And that’s all they say for a few minutes.

Jim didn’t really know what to say. Bones was right. Bones was ridiculously, unapologetically right. It was amazing, truly, how Bones liked to use honesty like a weapon. Bones never lied. He’s basically unable to convey any message without being starkly sincere. It was one of his many charms. Bones’ heart was sewn into the sleeve of his uniform. He liked to throw facts and feelings and thoughts out bluntly, like some warped self-defense. That part Jim was still working on understanding.

“You must be a really good friend for him to want to do that,” Jim said finally, small and selfish.

“That’s not the point, Jim,” Bones said, slamming his glass down on the desk. “That was never the point.”

“Isn’t it?” Jim threw back at him. He doesn’t know which of them is more surprised by his sudden anger. “You’re pissed that someone gets to play martyr instead of you? A little suffering is good for the soul, but only if it’s yours, right?”

Bones shook his head. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“That’s bullshit, Bones and you know it,” Jim said. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“You’re a good person, Bones,” he said. “You will always be a good person, even if you can’t see it. So I don’t expect you to understand why I will always push you out of the way.”

“And I don’t get a say in that?”

Jim dropped back in his seat, giving Bones a sad smile across the desk.

“Nope. I’m selfish like that.”

Bones stared at him for a second before shaking his head.

“Jim, you’re the least selfish person I know.”

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Bones,” he started. Then changed his mind and stopped, still stumped by the amount of honesty between them now. He tapped his hand against the side of his glass , trying to cover how completely unqualified he felt to handle the situation. Bones just let him, not saying anything. That’s how they worked, how they’ve always worked since Jim sat down on a shuttle in Iowa and Bones ruined his shoes.

“The last two weeks,” Jim finally decided to say a few minutes later. “I’ve been trying to write five different letters to five different families expressing my condolences about the death of their family member. But I’m having a hard time because I honestly can’t see the reasoning behind five people being gunned down by Klingons. I can’t send Jason Wildner’s mother a bullshit letter about how his death meant something. He didn’t deserve to die. None of them did. But I still have to write those letters.”

Jim swiped a hand across his face quickly. He looked across the table with wide eyes.

“Bones, do you have any idea what it would be like for me to have to write a letter like that to Joanna? Or your mother?”

“Jim-”

“No,” Jim said. Not angry, just like a fact. “You didn’t think about that, but I _always_ think about that.”

Jim took a long drink after that and _ahh_ , that look was back on Bones’ face. Bones looked at him and Jim really hoped he wasn’t going to be disappointed in whatever he saw.

“I fucked up, Jim,” Bones said quietly.

Jim waited, knowing there was more to that statement. After a drink, Bones continued.

“I was so angry at you that I wasn’t thinking. Hell, I’m still really angry at you. But I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand.”

Before Jim could comment, Bones was already pressing on.

“But,” he drawled. “You fucked up too. I get it, you’re a hero. It’s what you do. But even the great James Tiberius Kirk has people who care about him. You know, like me.”

Jim smiled.

“You got it a funny way of showing it sometimes,” he accused.

“Yeah,” Bones said, with his own sheepish grin. “So, sure, I may be the martyr, but you’re the one with the God complex. Maybe give it rest, huh? Next time, promise me you’ll stop a half a second before you jump in front of a gun or volunteer for sacrifice or whatever new thing comes up.”

“I don’t do promises, you know that,” Jim told him honestly.

 “Fine,” Bones yelled, looking exasperated. “Take it as a challenge then. You can understand challenges just fine. This is me, challenging you: don’t die, you idiot. Can you at least give me that?”

 “I will if you will.”

“That’s an idiotic threat, Jim,” Bones said with a raised eyebrow, cynicism dripping. Jim shrugged, not bothered in the slightest.

“Take it or leave it, Bones.”

“Fine,” Bones huffed. “ _Jesus Christ_ , fine.”

“Glad we’re agreed,” Jim said, propping his feet up on the desk with a grin. “We can’t die unless the other one okays it.”

Bones shook his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“That’s fucked up logic, you know that, right?”

“I thought we already established that we’re both fuck ups. Like less than two minutes ago?”

“That we did, Jimmy,” Bones said, draining his glass. “And you know what? We fuck ups gotta stick to together.”

Jim scratched the back of his neck, frowning.

“That’s…” he said slowly. “That’s the most aggressively beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Bones, in the middle of pouring himself a new glass, merely smirked.

“This bourbon looks old,” he said, half suspicious, half in awe.

“Uhh, yeah. It is. Happy early birthday, I guess,” Jim told him sheepishly. “I was kind of saving it.”

Bones took a drink and let out a low whistle.

“Damn,” he said. “That’s really good.”

“I’ll take your word for it. That stuff tastes like shit,” Jim grinned, reaching over and snagging the entire bottle of whiskey. He took a drink straight from it.

“I gave you a glass for a reason, Jim!”

“I like this better. It looks cooler.”

Bones shook his head, kicking his feet up on his desk and knocking Jim’s to the floor in one move.

“You’re a goddamn menace to society, kid,” he smirked.

“You threw an orange. _At my face_ ,” Jim snapped, putting his feet back up.

“You threw it first.”

“I was trying to be nice!”

“You were being a Grade A ass.”

“Did you know the caf still hasn’t stocked oranges since then?”

“You banned them, _Captain._ What did you expect? Your word is law around these here parts.”

“Daaamnnnn, that’s awesome. Just snap my fingers and _boom_ , no oranges. It is good to be king, Bonesy.”

“I told you never to call me that.”

“You like it.”

“…I kind of like it.”

 


	21. Not an Ambassador (Part One)

McCoy was working hard on not working at all on his afternoon off.

And, so far, he had been successful.

They were rare, after all, so he planned on making the most of it. For the last hour he had had the Rec Room mostly to himself, meaning he had been able to read his book without interruption; an actual, honest-to-God book with paper, ink, a hard-backed spine and everything. He had a stack of them in his quarters reserved specifically for occasions like this. From old-fashioned detective stories, to adventures and dramas, basically anything he could get his hands on when he was back on earth. There were even a few romances buried deep at the bottom, away from anyone’s (i.e.: Jim’s) prying, judgmental eyes. They were a comfort, grounding in those times when he didn’t feel like there was any really ground beneath him at all.

He was slunk comfortably in his favorite seat on the entire ship: the warn leather armchair in the back corner of the Rec Room was something he sometimes found himself fantasizing about during particular long or tiring shifts in Medbay.

He slouched lower into his seat when the sound of feet shuffling on the hard floor reached his ears, getting louder and louder the closer they got to him. He had given Dr. Toll strict instructions to come get him only if someone was dying. And he was pretty sure that despite the doctor’s advanced age, the man would be able to move a little bit faster than that if it was an emergency. Hopefully. He made a mental note to check Toll’s last logged physical results. He was reasonably hidden from passersby, so that the only real way you would find him was if you already knew where to look, if you knew that this chair was the one to check if you were looking for him on his day off. He heard the owner of the feet plop down on the seat across from him with more force than was entirely necessary, letting out a huff of annoyance as they did. McCoy didn’t even bother to fully divert his attention from his book.

“What’s up, Jim?”

Jim gave another disgruntled noise before answering.

“You remember the Trexins we had on board last week?” he bit out. 

“How could I forget? I had to waste two hours of my time showin’ them around Medbay, remember?” McCoy replied, still only half-listening.

“Anyways,” Jim continued. “We just got a call from the admiralty. The Trexins want to return the favor by having us over for a visit.”

“Okay?” McCoy drawled confusedly.

Jim seemed to have gotten along fine with the gold-skinned Trexins. McCoy did too, though that was more do to with his fine acting abilities than anything else. Sure, the few Trexins he had been forced to deal with were generally nice, good-natured folk. But, they had just asked so many Goddamn questions. They had been fascinated by anything and everything in Medbay, most especially McCoy himself. Their medical advancements were not anywhere near the level of the _Enterprise_. So they wanted to know about hypos and the osteo regenerator, and cabinet stocked with medicine, how McCoy remembered everything, what his schooling had been like, and on and on. McCoy had answered every question they had asked politely, for the sake of diplomacy. In actuality he had been gritting his teeth to hide his waning patience. He had a handful of injured crewmembers he had been trying to deal with at that time, including a communications officer with laryngitis, a yeoman with a stress fracture, and a lieutenant from the science department with minor burns. He had been extremely relieved when they had bowed to him, announcing their need to return to their own planet.

“No, Bones, it’s not okay!” Jim snapped angrily, his tone forceful enough to cause McCoy to finally look up from his book. He peered over the edge of it to stare at Jim with raised eyebrows. The kid was draped accross the chair in front of him, his feet hanging over the side of the left arm and his hands wildly moving about as he launched into his tirade.

“I wasn’t invited!”

“What?” McCoy asked. “Why not?”

“They _specifically_ made requests of who they wanted visiting them and I wasn’t included on it. I mean, I’m the Captain of this ship! I’m a decorated Starfleet officer who’s handled hundreds of things like this before. Was I not a good enough host? Did I insult them somehow?” Jim looked glumly over to McCoy, who merely shrugged.

“I don’t know, Jim, maybe. You do have a certain knack for that,” he answered bluntly.

Jim threw up his arms in anger.

“You would say that! They loved you! You get to go see their amazing stupid planet and eat their stupid food, and enjoy their stupid customs.”

McCoy set down his book sharply in his lap.

“ _What?”_ he snapped, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. Jim took a second out of his self-loathing diatribe to glance idly at McCoy.

“Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? You leave in about,” he looked over to the wall at the time “Three hours.”

McCoy’s fists clenched around his book.

“Like hell I am! I don’t want to go down there!” he yelled, the empty room allowing the words to reverberate and hang in the air. Jim looked back at him.

“You’re going, Bones.”

“In a pig’s eye, Jim!”

Jim sat up with a confused frown.

“In a…what?” he asked.

McCoy practically growled as he advanced forward. Jim put up his hands in a placating manner.

“Hey, it wasn’t my decision. Obviously,” he said. “They are the ones who wanted you and Spock down there.”

“Me AND SPOCK?”

“Yes, Bones,” Jim said calmly. “You and Spock were asked to come. He’s probably waiting in your office right now to go over some things before you leave.”

McCoy groaned, falling roughly against the back of the armchair. He stared up at the ceiling hopelessly.

“Dammit, Jim! It’s my day off. Spending it with Spock on some planet, playin’ ambassador is the last thing I want to do- in those itchy formal uniforms, no doubt!”

 Jim’s face pinched with annoyance.

“Don’t get all angry-southern-gentleman on me. You know I can barely understand you when you do that. Also, those uniforms aren’t _that_ bad, so suck it up, because you are going. This isn’t in my hands. Admiral Milner himself called to make sure we had graciously accepted the Trexins’ invitation,” Jim said, before adding in a whine, “be thankful you get to go. Some of us are stuck here on the ship. A ship without a fun, new planet to explore. ” 

“Whatever,” McCoy snapped angrily, jumping out of his seat. He shot Jim one final glare before stalking out the door, heading to prepare for his trip.

His day off had officially been ruined.

* * *

 

“Okay, okay, Spock, run that by me again,” McCoy said.

Spock’s lips formed a tight frown, briefly, before he repeated himself for what felt like the fifth time.

“You mustn’t refuse any food or drink that they offer you, it will be taken as highly offensive to them. But, you also should not eat all of the food on your plate, as they see that as greedy.”

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose.

Yeah, this was going to be real simple.

He and Spock were seated in his office, as they had been for the last hour, going over the trip. Spock was basically giving him a crash-course in how to be an ambassador and so far, he only felt that they were moderately screwed. It’s not that McCoy was stupid, it was just that some parts of the Trexin culture seemed so…backwards, that he had a hard time grasping it. For instance, their theories and methods when it came to medical treatment were proving to be particularly hard for McCoy’s brain to process. They were aware that people had come far in advancements in the field of medicine, yet they were still using outdated, rather archaic practices. _By choice._  When McCoy had spent two hours with a group of their elders last week, they had been in complete awe of his skill. He had explained numerous times how it wasn’t all him, the equipment and medicine that the ship had at its disposal was a lot of it. They had all merely frowned and shaken their heads, their leader quietly telling McCoy that they were not too fond of reliance on machines, preferring instead to value the work of hands. McCoy had been about to counter about how “the work of hands” could only go so far before Jim had hastily caught his eye, shaking his head shortly. He had instead nodded thoughtfully to the older man before, thankfully, one of the other elders was excitedly asking him about Nurse Chapel. Female healers, they told him, were not just uncommon on their planet, but completely unheard of. McCoy had again bit his tongue before he could say something that could get him into trouble.

 “Okay, I think I got it,” McCoy said to Spock.

Spock nodded before standing up. He grasped his hands behind his back before looking down at McCoy, still seated at his desk chair.

“We will beam down in an hour, Doctor. Please be ready to go by then. In your formal uniform,” he added before turning sharply and walking out the door.

McCoy watched him go, his facing pulling into something that was most-definitely, in no way, a pout. He stood up, headed to his room to change.

* * *

 

Whatever Jim might say to the contrary, these damn uniforms _were_ itchy and their high, tight collars made him feel like he was being strangled unsuccessfully. He shifted uncomfortably as he stood next to Spock in the transporter room. His hand slid to his side to fiddle awkwardly with his medpack, only for him to remember that it wasn’t there.

He gritted his teeth.

Spock had outright refused to let him bring it along. While yes, there shouldn’t be any reason for him to need it (this was a simple, good-natured diplomatic visit) he still wasn’t happy about it. He was the _Enterprise’s_ Chief Medical Officer, after all. He knew firsthand how missions like that could end with a Russian Navigator with second degree burns or a missing Captain. He felt utterly naked without his medpack and couldn’t quite squash the feeling of worry in the pit of his stomach.

“Ready?”

McCoy and Spock both looked over at Scotty, who was waiting at the control panel. They nodded, McCoy a little less confident in his. It was no secret he hated being beamed down places. He was just really, really hoping that he at least wouldn’t puke this time.

He joined Spock on the platform, running his finger one last time along his collar, trying to loosen it around his throat some.

Scotty smiled up at them.

“Good luck,” he said, before hitting the command.

McCoy closed his eyes tight as the tingling, tugging sensation engulfed him. He concentrated on nothing but his own breathing during the brief pause they experienced between the moment they left the _Enterprise_ and the moment they landed on Trexin. His stomach felt like it took a little longer to land and he stumbled slightly.

“Are you okay, Dr. McCoy?” Spock asked next to him.

McCoy barely had time to nod before they heard a bright, jovial voice call out behind them.

“Mr. Spock! Dr. McCoy!”

They turned to see the elders walking towards them, bright grins on their faces. The man who had spoken, Fret’chin, bowed lightly to them. McCoy glanced at Spock out of the corner of his eye before they both returned the bow.

“I hope your trip was okay?” he asked.

 McCoy let Spock talk while he took a chance to look around the planet and will his stomach to calm down. It was so bright, he almost had to squint.

The whole place seemed like an artist’s creation and in fact, he was suddenly sad he didn’t have any drawing materials in his possession. A sprawling landscape made up of rich reds, oranges, and pinks surrounded them. It was hotter here than it had been on the ship, and McCoy was already feeling a flush creep up his neck against his stiff formal uniform. They were standing in the middle of a grassy knoll. At least, it seemed like grass. It had the same texture and look, though instead of the green he was used to, it was a deep maroon.

“And you, Dr. McCoy? You seem a little shaken,” Fret’chin’s voice suddenly asked, causing McCoy to quickly look up at him. He put on a nice smile. He could do this.

“Oh no, I’m alright. Not a big fan of the transportation process, is all,” he said. Fret’chin and the rest of the elders nodded.  

“Hopefully the feast we have prepared for you will help you feel better,” he said gently. He gestured wide with his arm, towards the right. “Come, let us eat.”

McCoy and Spock followed him dutifully, the other elders falling into step behind them as they walked.

“It is not as shiny or advanced as your ship, but we quite like it here,” Fret’chin said, the elders murmuring in agreement. McCoy and Spock nodded, looking around them.

“Yes, it is quite lovely here,” Spock said. McCoy bit back his snort at Spock’s word choice, trying not to laugh at Spock’s obvious discomfort at using a word like ‘lovely’.

Fret’chin nodded as he pointed at a large hut-like structure they were passing to their left.

“That is where our women prepare food, as is custom,” he said. Like when they had shown surprise at Christine’s position on the ship, McCoy bit his tongue to refrain from picking a fight over the sexist way Fret’chin said it, like the women would have nowhere else to be but preparing food. He instead pretended to examine the exterior of the building with interest.

“Behind that is the high meeting chambers, where the other elders and I go to discuss matters as they arise. Like today, we had a very serious meeting about what food should be served tonight in honor of our special guests,” he finished with a loud, deep, laugh.

McCoy and Spock smiled at him. McCoy was suddenly struck by the realization that they had yet to see another Trexin, apart from the council, since they beamed down. He gave it only a second’s thought before Fret’chin was speaking again.

“Over there, is our medical tent,” he said, pointing to his left. “I will take you there after dinner, Doctor. The healers are…most anxious to meet you.”

“I would love to,” McCoy said genuinely. Truly, he would love an opportunity to see what kind of equipment, if any, the Trexins were using. He wasn’t looking forward to being asked a million different questions _again,_ though. But, still, it would be utterly (and if anyone ever told Spock he said this, he’d kill them slowly and without mercy) fascinatingto learn how they worked.

As they rounded the last corner of buildings, McCoy’s eyes widened. Of course they hadn’t seen anybody else on the planet. They were all _here._

About two hundred, if not more, gold-skinned Trexins were seated around the largest table McCoy had ever seen. Food of every texture and color imaginable was set down along the entire length of the table, its sheer weight enough to cause McCoy to fear for the table to collapse. All the food was still untouched, waiting, apparently, for the guests of honor to arrive. The Trexins all had been chatting in quiet, murmuring voices before Spock, McCoy and the council had come out from behind the last tent, but stopped abruptly when their eyes fell on the approaching group. Some smiled at them, some stared at them with deep frowns, but most just looked up at them with wide eyes. McCoy stiffened under their combined gazes, glancing at Fret’chin and the other elders. They were still beaming widely, staring at their people. Fret’chin stretched his arm out wide.

“The whole village came out welcome you,” he said. “Please sit wherever you’d like.”

McCoy internally groaned. Great. He had thought he and Spock would have been seated with the elders, meaning he’d be able to watch the Vulcan covertly the entire meal and follow whatever he did. Now, glancing around at the seats, he didn’t see two empty spaces even near each other. Spock barely gave him a look before he sat down nimbly next to an older Trexin man who was staring intently down at his empty plate, ignoring the proceedings. Dammit! That was so the spot he had just been about to pick. McCoy looked around in a quiet panic as Fret’chin and the other elders took up their places in some of the vacant chairs. McCoy threw caution to the winds and sat down at the first one he came to. It was thirty spots down from Spock and McCoy could barely see him, let alone try to copy his actions. He was going to cause an interplanetary incident, he could just tell. He kept his head down as he pushed in his chair, then suddenly looked up, remembering something Spock had said about eye contact being important. The people seated around him were staring anxiously at him. Now that he could see them clearly, he realized he must have seated himself right in the middle of a family. They all had identical noses and drooping eyelids, anyway. They even were all wearing the same green-cloth robes. He managed a tight smile.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello, Dr. McCoy,” a woman, the mother apparently, said to him. She pronounced his name with the same accent that Fret’chin and the elders had, making the second ‘o’ in ‘doctor’ sound like an ‘a’.

“We have heard a lot about you,” she added, which explained why she knew his name.

“All good stuff, I hope,” McCoy tried to joke.

 The woman’s face did not change in the slightest, remaining in a tight line. She only nodded.

“Yes,” she said impassively.

McCoy was trying to ignore the fact that he could clearly see the small boy to his left turned all the way in his seat, staring at him with his mouth dropped open. His father, sitting next to his mother, quickly reached across the table and yanked on the boy’s arm until he sat back in his seat properly.

The woman was still regarding him with…suspicion? Or fear? He couldn’t tell.

McCoy looked up at her. Her eyes weren’t just narrowed, they were also slightly puffy. And when McCoy’s eyes trailed down to her hands, wringing tightly just off the edge of the table, he noticed the small cloth clenched in her left fist. When he looked her back in the eye, he saw a slight tremble to her lips. She stared back at him for a few seconds.

“Are you here to help us?” she whispered quickly.

McCoy’s eyebrows drew together.

“What?” he asked in confusion.

The woman didn’t answer him as she, and everyone else at the table, had their  attention drawn to the right, where Fret’chin was standing up. His long robes billowed out behind him as he gestured wide. _“That man was all arms,”_ McCoy had told Jim after the Trexins had left the _Enterprise_.

“A prayer before we eat,” he said with a smile. He bowed his head and the entire table followed suit. As Fret’chin began speaking in the native Trexin tongue, his voice solemn and low, McCoy let his words flow over him. His mind was working in overtime, trying to process what the woman had said to him. Help? Help what? As far as they had been told, this was nothing but a short quick visit. They’d be back on the _Enterprise_ in the next few hours. As soon as he heard Fret’chin stop speaking, he lifted his head. He glanced down at Spock, only to see the Vulcan staring intently at their host.

Fret’chin sat back down at his seat and, instantly, the entire village reached for the food in front of them to fill their plates. McCoy looked back to the woman across from him, only find her seat suddenly empty. He looked around quickly, yet he could see no trace of where she had gone.

“If you’ll excuse her, she isn’t feeling well,” the man sitting next to the vacant seat told McCoy with a smile, apologetic smile. McCoy nodded slowly.

“Yes, of course,” he said.

He then flinched when a large pile of…something landed on his plate, scaring him out his musings. He turned sharply, only to see the small boy next to him smiling widely, a scoop in his hand. McCoy quickly returned the smile.

“Thank you,” he told the boy, who quickly reached for more food from the table to place on McCoy’s plate. McCoy let him continue, remembering what Spock had told him in his office. Finally, the boy seemed satisfied and sat back in his chair, eyes still on McCoy. McCoy slowly reached for the thing that most resembled a fork beside his plate, scooping up a bite of…something before bringing it to his mouth. As he chewed slowly, the boy eagerly watched him.

It, whatever the hell it was, wasn’t bad at all. Actually, it was pretty good. It reminded him vaguely of sweet corn, something he hadn’t had since boarding the _Enterprise._ He swallowed and smiled at the boy, hoping that would be enough to appease him. Fortunately, it seemed to do the trick. The boy finally turned away from him, filling up his own plate. McCoy took another bite, staring around at the table. The man across from him seemed to be doing his best not to look at McCoy at all. He kept his eyes on his food. Why would have Spock made such a big deal about eye contact if the Trexins themselves were going to ignore the rule?  McCoy looked past him, further down the table, noticing for the first time, the number of empty chairs at the table. About twenty or so plates sat completely clean, including the one across from him.

His attention went back to his young neighbor when the boy began tugging on his sleeve. He pointed excitedly to another variety of food on his plate. McCoy laughed before dutifully grabbing a forkful.

* * *

 

As dinner wound down, McCoy made sure to leave a reasonable portion of each choice on his plate. He looked to his new friend for reference, since Spock was too far away. The kid had about the same amount of food left on his so he breathed a sigh of relief.

He leaned back lightly in his chair.

Throughout the entire meal, the man across from him had refused to say a word to him. Actually, everyone around him seemed pretty keen on pretending he didn’t exist. They averted their eyes and only talked in low mumbles. McCoy was completely fine with that, of course. It was harder to make a fool of himself, and by extension Starfleet, if he didn’t have to try to make conversation.

“Dr. McCoy?”

McCoy whipped around in his seat as he felt a hand land on his shoulder. Fret’chin stood towering above him, smiling gently.

“If you are done,” he said, not finishing his sentence. Instead, he made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. McCoy nodded and quickly stood.

Suddenly, it was as if the people at the table suddenly remembered that he existed. As he rose, all eyes locked on him. He smiled, uncertain what they expected of him now. Luckily Fret’chin guided him away from the table, so quick McCoy barely had a moment to glance at Spock, who seemed to be engrossed in his conversation with his neighbor.

He and Fret’chin wove their way through the tents and huts, heading towards the large medical tent.

“Our people were very excited when we told them about you, Dr. McCoy,” Fret’chin said with a laugh. The sound was awkward and forced, as opposed to Fret’chin’s booming, contagious laugh earlier. It hung around them as they continued to walk in silence for a few moments before McCoy halted, stopped by the suddenly vicelike grip Fret’chin had on his forearm. McCoy quickly looked up at the man in alarm.

“What-”

“ _Please_ , Dr. McCoy,” Fret’chin said, his eyes staring at McCoy’s with desperation. “I need to tell you something. I need to be completely honest.”

McCoy looked around hopelessly, trying to find anyone else. But, they were all down at the feast, leaving McCoy and Fret’chin completely alone.

“What?” McCoy asked again, in a quiet hush to match Fret’chin’s low tone.  He glanced down for a second at the elder’s fingers still wrapped around his arm.

“I wasn’t absolutely truthful in my invitation I sent to your Captain,” Fret’chin said in a rush. McCoy swallowed hard, fear making his heart rate double.

“The truth is, I need your help, Dr. McCoy,” Fret’chin continued. “ _My people_ need your help.”

McCoy looked at him, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. Before he could say anything, he was being pulled along at a fast pace, towards the medical tent. They slid to a stop outside the closed entrance.

“It started a few weeks ago,” Fret’chin whispered. “We…we can’t seem to be able to do anything.”

His face suddenly broke into a trembling smile.

“But you can,” he told McCoy firmly. He released his hold on McCoy’s arm and McCoy quickly withdrew it from his reach.

“What the hell are you talking about?” McCoy bit out.  

Fret’chin only stared at him a moment longer before turning to the tent. He pulled at the flap covering the entrance, letting it slide to the ground. McCoy cautiously tried to peer into the tent before he felt Fret’chin’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward through the hole.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Instantly, he brought up his sleeve to try and block his mouth and nose the best he could. The tent absolutely reeked. The smell of death and festering wounds hung in the hot air and almost caused McCoy to gag. His eyes darted quickly around the small space, trying to process what he was seeing.

Small cots, about 15 of them, were placed at random intervals on the ground. Each was occupied with a sleeping Trexin. At least, McCoy hoped that they were sleeping. They could just have easily been dead. They all looked frail, their cheeks hollow and their bones clearly visible under their skin. Their lips were cracked, causing the painful wheezes they were emitting to sound even worse. They were all wrapped tight in blankets, though they still shivered.

McCoy crouched quickly next to their nearest cot. It housed an extremely thin man whose eyes were sunken into this skull. To McCoy’s further horror, he could see open sores on the man’s scalp and face. He stood up quickly, rounding on Fret’chin.

“What is this?”

Fret’chin looked at him imploringly.

“I told you! It started a few weeks ago. People starting getting sick and our healers have no idea what to do. Please, Dr. McCoy, we’ve already lost so many,” he finished with a choked sob.

McCoy stared at him for a moment, his mind racing.

“We need to get them up to the _Enterprise_ now! I can try to figure out what’s wrong from-”

“No!” Fret’chin shouted, interrupting him. “You have to treat them here. I told you, we do not like a reliance on machines. Your Medbay is nothing but machines.”

McCoy glared at him.

“These people are dying! They need immediate care,” he told Fret’chin.

“Then do it here. Please,” he begged.

McCoy glanced from him to the various patients in the room.

“Damn it all,” he muttered, before turning and racing towards the entrance, Fret’chin hot on his heels.

 “I’m going to go back to the ship and bring down as much supplies as I can. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” he told Fret’chin, who smiled sadly, seemingly in relief.

 “Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” he said quietly.

McCoy didn’t answer. Instead he flipped open his communicator.

“McCoy to _Enterprise._ One to beam up,” he ordered. He gave one long, hard look at the medical tent before he closed his eyes tight against the pull of the transport beam.

As soon as his feet hit the solid ground of the ship, he took off running. He heard Scotty yelling after him, but he was already around the corner. The Medbay, luckily, was on the same level as the transport room. He made sure to keep his sleeve pressed tightly to his mouth and nose. He may have already been exposed to the whatever it was that the Trexins had, but he didn’t want to make it any easier for the virus to spread to the _Enterprise._ Crewmembers parted quickly at the sight of the ship’s CMO racing through the hall.

He flew through the doors of Medbay. Chapel looked up in alarm as he came barreling across the room towards her.

“Dr. McCoy, what -”

“Chapel,” he interrupted. “I need you to pull up as much information on Trexin biology as you can. Now,” he added. She gave a startled nod before grabbing the nearest PADD from her desk.

McCoy left her to that as he reached in the drawer where they kept the bio masks and slipped one onto his face. Turning sharply, he rushed to the cabinet where the medicine was stored. His eyes scanned the names he saw there, his brain working quickly. Not only did he have no idea what he was going up against here, he also only had a tentative grasp on Trexin anatomy. He had learned about them, briefly, during one of his classes at the academy. But that had been maybe a week’s long lesson years ago.

He ended up reaching for the medicines that treated those symptoms in humans and various other species. His hands full of bottles, he turned to the nearest empty bed and dumped them there. He went back to grab more.

“Bones!”

Jim was suddenly at his side, his hand wrapped tight on McCoy’s arm. Why did everyone seen so keen to do that to him lately? McCoy looked at him, seeing the wide-set to his eyes.

“What the hell happened? What’s with the mask?”

McCoy turned back to the medicine cabinet as he answered, Jim’s hand slipping off his arm.

“The Trexins lied to us, Jim. They didn’t want us there just for dinner and little hospitality. They wanted me down there to help them.”

He added more medicine to the pile on the bed.

“What?” Jim asked, staring at McCoy in shock. McCoy stopped his motions for a second in order to meet Jim’s eye.

“They’re sick. Really sick. And their healers don’t have the first clue what to do about it so their people are dropping like flies.”

Jim’s lips tightened as McCoy’s words sank in.

“Okay, we’ll bring them here,” he said, gesturing wide at the Medbay. McCoy shook his head as he maneuvered around Jim, grabbing gloves and other supplies from the shelves behind him.

“We need to treat’em down there. Fret’chin refused to allow them on board.”

Jim was silent for a moment, his eyes darting around them room as the gears worked in his head.

“Where’s Spock?”

McCoy shook his head.

“He was still at the feast when Fret’chin pulled me aside to show me the sick Trexins. Listen, Jim,” he took a step further towards Jim, his voice stern. “You need to call Spock and get him back on the ship. Make sure he puts on a mask when he beams up and have Chapel run a diagnostic to make sure he didn’t get it.”

“What about you?” Jim asked sharply.

McCoy shrugged.

“I was already exposed. We’ll have to see. But right now, I need to get back down there,” he said, turning to the bed stocked with supplies and pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. He could worry about himself later.

At a loss for what else to do, McCoy pulled the sheets of the biobed out, scooping up the supplies he’d collected in one giant heap and lifting it up.

“Chapel!” he barked, turning to the nurse. She was at his side in an instant, pushing the PADD into his free hand.

He nodded at her in thanks before heading for the door, Jim keeping pace with him.

“Bones, do you need me down there?” Jim asked. McCoy shook his head vehemently.

“I can’t have you down there in case you get sick. This ship needs its Captain,” McCoy tried to joke. Jim’s face didn’t break from its worried frown.

They rounded the last corner and entered the transport room. McCoy quickly stepped up to the platform. Jim stood back with Scotty at the controls.

“Call us the moment you get a chance,” he said.

McCoy nodded, adjusting his makeshift bag so that it rested more securely against his body.

“And be careful, Bones,” Jim added.

The smile McCoy gave was lost in the bio mask.

“I will, Jim. I promise.”

Jim tore his eyes away from McCoy to nod at Scotty, who pushed a few buttons on the console.

McCoy breathed in and out deeply, once, before he was gone.


	22. Not a Hero (Part Two)

The light chirping of his communicator had McCoy jumping awake. He looked around the small tent with confusion, trying to remember ever having gone to sleep in the first place. The noise continued and he quickly hopped up from his spot on the floor and headed for the door, not wanting to disrupt the sleeping Trexins around him.

He flipped open the communicator as he stepped out of the tent and into the fading day light.

“McCoy,” he answered, rubbing wearily at his eyes with his free hand.

“Did I wake you?” Jim asked on the other end.

“It’s fine, Jim, what’s up?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” came Jim’s hesitant voice. Of course he had bad news. Of course as soon as McCoy finally felt that they had gotten out of the woods, Jim would call and drag them back in by the scruff of their necks.

It hadn’t been easy once he had landed back on the planet; in fact, he felt like he had been in a constant state of motion for two straight days, stopping only when he apparently fell asleep after checking the vitals of one of the Trexins in the last hour.

After taking a crash-course in Trexin biology, he had begun to map out a treatment plan. The _Enterprise_ was stocked with medicine for at least a hundred different species, yet they had nothing specifically for Trexins. So, McCoy and the science department had had to use a trial-and-error process to try and come up with something. Trexins had a chemical makeup that seemed to be a cross between the Hirogen’s and Bolian’s, with a little Betazoid thrown in. Using the medications they had for those species, they’d managed to come up with some pretty effective cocktails. As far as they could tell, it seemed similar to a bacterial infection that affected the lungs and generally wreaked havoc on the immune system. They still had no definitive name for it, but whatever it was, it was a tough son of a bitch. The healers had tried to assist him as much as they could, but it seemed to take longer time explaining to them how hypos were used than it would for him to just simply walk over and do it himself. So, he was exhausted and he honestly didn’t know if he could handle any curveballs right now.

“Give me the good,” he finally said.

“Christine was just up to the Bridge to visit me. She wanted me to tell you asap that the tests you had them run came back,” Jim said. “And whatever it is the Trexins have _cannot_ be passed to humans so, you’re good.”

McCoy let out a sigh of relief before roughly pulling the bio mask off his face. He breathed in a deep breath of the cool night air before answering.

“Let me have a second to enjoy the good news before the bad,” he said. He heard Jim faintly laugh.

“Well, actually, the bad news I was going to tell you is that Scotty can’t make it to poker next week,” he said.

McCoy shook his head as he let out a laugh of his own.

“That’s the best damn bad news you could have said,” he replied.

“Bones, come on, Scotty is going to be hurt if he hears you say that,” Jim teased. Again McCoy laughed.

“So, how are things holding up?” Jim asked after a pause.

“Better, as far as I can tell,” he answered honestly. Luckily, they hadn’t lost anybody since he took over care. Nor had any of the others started showing symptoms, so things were good. “What about you? Bored out of your mind yet?”

Since McCoy had the whole of the medical and science departments concentrating on the Trexins, that left Jim and the others on board not wearing blue shirts without anything to do. Last McCoy had heard, they were planning a movie night.

“God, yes. It’s horrible, Bones,” Jim told him seriously.

“What is?”

“Waiting! Doing nothing! Sitting through two hours of some shitty movie just to try and pass time! I’m a Captain, not someone content with twiddling their thumbs.”

“Yeah, I know,” McCoy said, smiling at the picture of Jim sitting with the rest of the crew watching a movie for the evening. He was simultaneously disappointed and thrilled that he had missed out on it.

“So we’ll have our doctor back soon?”

Because the universe had a way of biting him in the ass, McCoy’s reply stoutly in the affirmative died on his lips as he suddenly heard a low moan issue from inside the tent. McCoy let his eyes flicker to the entrance.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself.

“What is it?” Jim asked anxiously.

“I gotta go, Jim. I’ll check back in soon,” he said into the comm, already taking a step closer to the tent.

“Of course, Bones. Do what you gotta do,” Jim replied.

“McCoy out.”

He flipped the device closed before slipping through the door.

The youngest Trexin in his care, a skinny girl around 14, was shifting restlessly in her bed. McCoy was at her side in an instant, crouching low.

“Hey, hey,” he quietly tried to get her attention. Her eyes blearily opened before she looked up at him. He placed a hand on her forehead. Trexin fevers burned cold and she was icy.

“How are you feeling, Trega?” he asked her, reaching into the medpack at his hip for a bottle of medicine and a hypo.

“Cold,” she muttered. McCoy gave her a worried frown he loaded the medicine.

“Well, we’re going to try and fix that. Your brother misses you awfully much, you know,” he told her. “Your mother says he hasn’t spoken to anyone since you’ve been sick.”

She smiled weakly at that.

“Tresso doesn’t like to talk very much in the first place,” she said. McCoy nodded, remembering when he had first met the boy at the feast. He gently released the hypo against her neck, causing her to sigh heavily. He reached up again and pulled her blankets tight around her as her eyes started to slip close again.

“If you see him,” she murmured, barely audible. “Tell him I’ll see him soon.”

“You got it,” he assured her.

He stood up, wincing as his back popped roughly. He stretched as much he could in the small space before moving over to check on the next patient, an older man who had yet to wake up since McCoy had gotten there. Fret’chin had told McCoy that they had lost ten of their people already to the mysterious illness. It had taken a large toll on everyone else, emotionally, and McCoy had only been able to nod in understanding, at a loss for what to say.

The old man was the only one that McCoy didn’t have a positive outlook on. He showed improvement over the last couple of days, but not nearly as much as the others. There wasn’t much more he could do.

He pulled back the bandages that covered some of the small sores on the man’s n. They looked finally to be on the way to healing, which was the first sign of encouragement he felt in the last few hours. 

He looked around the room again, at the sleeping Trexins around him, his own eyelids stubbornly refusing to remain open. Realizing that they would be okay for a few minutes, he wandered back over to empty corner he had been in earlier. As he lay down on the ground, he struggled into a position he didn’t think he’d regret when he woke up. The rough ground was a far cry from the comfort level of his bed back on the ship, but he’d make due. He felt the warm air of the planet slip through the cracks of the tent begin to breeze gently across his face. It was a soothing feeling the quickly helped put him to sleep in minutes.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stay that way.

Much sooner than his body would have liked, the less than soothing sounds of hacking coughs, choked moans, and cries had him going from sound asleep to wide awake in seconds. He was on his feet before his brain was fully switched on, hurrying to check on a puking woman on the other side of the room. He tried as best he could to comfort her, before his attention was drawn to the bed beside her, when the man in it tried to weakly get up. It hadn’t taken a lot to get him back down, as he was much too frail to push against the firm hand McCoy placed on his shoulder to keep him from moving farther. He turned back to the puking woman, who was still at it, as he eyes did a scan of the room at the various patients.

All of whom no longer seemed to be doing as well as he’d thought.

* * *

 

Three hours later, McCoy didn’t even let himself _think_ the words ‘out of the woods’ this time, or give anything remotely resembling a sigh of relief, lest he jinx it.

He let the curtain fall shut behind him as he exited the tent. His whole body was stooped with exhaustion and leaned heavily against a large woven barrel beside the tent. He ran a hand over his face, yawning.

“You look like you could use this.”

He let his neck slide slowly to look over his shoulder at the person speaking to him. Trega’s mother, Raneet, stood behind him, a large plate of food in her hands. Despite the heavy worry lines and dark eyes, she was still attempting to smile at him. He returned it, standing up from the barrel.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the offered food.

“It was the least I could do, Doctor,” she said, her now-empty hands going straight to wringing lightly. McCoy sat roughly on the ground, setting the plate in his lap. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow until she joined him, the heavy fabric of her robes spilling out around her. McCoy took a bite of the food, noting with a smile it was the same dish that Tresso was so happy he had liked at the feast. He swallowed and then looked over to his companion.

“Trega woke up today,” he said. Raneet let her shoulders loosen slightly at that.

“And?” she said calmly.

“And she wanted me to tell her brother that she’d see him soon,” McCoy said, taking another bite as he watched the woman’s face break into a true smile. It was fleeting, however, as it soon slipped back to the worried frown.

“What about the others?” she asked. McCoy sighed as he looked back to the closed tent entrance, remembering his vow earlier to not jinx it.

“We’re managing,” he finally said, deciding it was a safe way to describe their situation. And it was true. He was managing; it was just that sometimes, how _well_ he was managing changed from hour to hour.

Raneet nodded, her gaze somber.

“All those people we lost…” she whispered, more to herself than to McCoy. McCoy reached over and squeezed her hand, once, before meeting her gaze with a firm nod.

“I know,” he said.

Raneet looked up, her eyes looking deep into McCoy’s.

“But now we are lucky that you are here, Dr. McCoy. Trega and the others are lucky you showed up when you did.”

McCoy rubbed a hand across his forehead.

“I’m trying,” he told her after a minute of silence because, truly, he didn’t know what else to say. He had only the barest of grasps on what he was doing. Everything could backfire at any minute, all the good he thought he had done the last few days useless. And as much as he wanted to reassure Raneet that everything was going to be okay, that her daughter would be fine, he knew he couldn’t look past the very distinct possibility that he could be lying.  It was nerve-racking, to say the least.

McCoy went back to his food, letting silence fill the space between him and Raneet. When he finished, he set the plate aside, looking up.

“Thank you, again,” he said.

Raneet nodded.

“You look exhausted,” she said. McCoy shrugged.

“I’m a doctor. If I’m not exhausted, I’m not doin’ my job right,” he said. He got to his feet, stifling the groan that threatened to spill out of his mouth as his tired body protested the action. He helped Raneet stand.

“Goodnight, Dr. McCoy,” she said lightly, picking up the plate. “I’ll make sure that Tresso gets the message.”

“Goodnight,” he said.

As Raneet turned around the nearest corner, McCoy pulled back the curtain into the tent. He stepped inside, relieved to see that everything seemed the same as when he left it. Except, of course, for the eyes peering intently at him from the nearest bed. He rushed quickly over to the elderly Sieble’s bed, worried the old man was in pain. It was the first time he had opened his eyes since McCoy had started treating him. They were bright and looked like they could tell a few stories.

“Are you okay? Are you in pain?” he asked, hand already slipping to his medpack for the medicine there. He stilled his motions when the old man reached out slowly, wrapping his old, withered fingers around McCoy’s forearm. McCoy looked down at him with a frown. The man mumbled something, but it was lost in the breeze that was slipping through the tent. McCoy leaned in closer, trying to make out the words.

“Th…thank you.”

McCoy leaned back on his heels, letting a smile fall into place on his lips. He looked the old man in the eye firmly.

“You’re welcome,” he said simply.

The man let his hand slip off McCoy’s arm, his eyes blinking heavily. McCoy waited until his breathing seemed to even out before standing up and leaving the man to sleep.

He made his way over to the patch of floor that he had made his makeshift bed earlier. He sat down, his back straight, as he took up vigil over the entire room. 

 

* * *

“Just like that?”

McCoy held back the urge to laugh at the deep, concentrated frown Trega wore as she looked up at him, her eyebrows drawn together. He nodded.

“Just like that.”

Her eyes shifted away from him, back down to patch of dirt between them. She bit her lip as she cautiously let her finger touch the ground, tracing a rough ‘x’ in the space right next to the ‘o’ McCoy himself had just drawn. She quickly looked back up at him, her eyes uncertain.

“Exactly.”

She beamed.

McCoy was using Trega, and the rest of the people seated in a circle around their game of tic-tac-toe, as an excuse to avoid the party currently in the full-swing outside. Since yesterday, when he had off-handedly mentioned the game while checking on Juret’s vitals, every one of the patients had been pestering him to teach them. After spending 20 begrudging minutes at the party, he had surreptitiously ducked back into the medical tent, announcing to the group that he’d show them how to play. They had all gathered around excitedly as he moved Greth’s bed quickly out of the way in order to draw the board in the dirt. He knew he only had a half an hour at most before someone would finally notice his absence and come to drag his ass back out there. It was, after all, _his_ party.

When, a little over two days ago, McCoy had told Fret’chin that all the infected patients should be able to return to their own homes by the end of the next week, the man had been overjoyed.

“I think that means a celebration is in order, Doctor,” he had said brightly. “With our hero as the guest of honor.”

It had taken McCoy a second to fully grasp that the ‘hero’ Fret’chin was talking about was, in fact, him. When it finally clicked into place, he hastily shook his head.

“I’m not a hero,” McCoy blurted out.

If possible, Fret’chin’s smile widened. He reached over and lightly patted McCoy’s hand.

“Nonsense,” he said gently.

“But, I really-”

“ _Nonsense,_ ” Fret’chin repeated. “I won’t hear another word against it, Dr. McCoy. You have saved our people. All of us.”

Despite Fret’chin’s insistence not to, McCoy wanted to point out the untruth in the statement. Yes, he could take credit to keeping the people in the Medical tent alive the last week. But it was the envoy of immunologists currently en route from Starfleet Headquarters to replace the _Enterprise_ ’s tired team that was going to be responsible for saving the rest of the village. The last time he had beamed back to the ship for more supplies, he had had Uhura patch him through to Earth in order to update them more fully on the situation, asking what they wanted him to next. They had told him to sit tight and they’d get a team together to send over to the planet as soon as possible. They would run more extensive tests and hopefully come up with a cure or vaccine.

McCoy instead had clasped his hands behind his back, nodding curtly. He bit his tongue to keep from telling Fret’chin that if he really wanted to do something for McCoy, _not_ throwing a party would be the first thing.

But, now, here he was, hiding out in the medical tent. He had a circle of beautiful, rust-colored flowers around his neck that had been placed there at the beginning of the party by Fret’chin as everyone had applauded.

He jokingly pretended to eye to remaining spots on the board critically. He even tapped his chin. Finally, he reached over and put another ‘o’ in the last remaining spot on the top row. Trega, with more confidence this time, drew an ‘x’ in the middle square. McCoy knew in order to stop her from winning, he needed to make sure to put his next ‘o’ in the bottom middle square. So, naturally, he put it in the middle left one. Trega grinned again as she hurriedly put her third ‘x’ in its spot, winning the game. Everyone seated around the two held their breath as they quickly looked at McCoy, who had put a convincing frown on his face.

“You cheated,” he said, looking at Trega. She shook her head, her smile still wide.

“I did not! I won all on my own!” she insisted. McCoy eyed her for a minute longer.

“Okay,” he finally said, drawing out the word skeptically. “I wanna rematch, then!”

Trega narrowed her eyes.

“Alright, Dr. McCoy,” she replied.

As McCoy reached down to wipe out the ‘x’s’ and ‘o’s’ from the ground, the fabric covering the tent entrance was drawn back, sending light from the mid-afternoon sun streaming into the small space. Busted.

“Dr. McCoy, we have been looking everywhere for you,” Fret’chin said from his place in the doorway. McCoy looked up at him, trying for an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Fret’chin, I had to come in and check on everyone,” he said.

Fret’chin took half a step out of the tent.

“Is everything okay?” he asked worriedly. McCoy hastily shook his head.

“No, no,” he assured the elder. “I just wanted to say goodbye before I leave.”

“You’re leaving?” Trega asked behind him. McCoy turned around, seeing her and the others’ frowning faces. He smiled sadly.

“Yeah, I gotta get home. Ya’ll are too healthy to need me anymore,” he joked. A few of the patients smiled or laughed softly at that. Trega, however, crossed her arms.

“But what about our game? I was looking forward to winning…again,” she added with a smirk. McCoy shook his head with a chuckle.

“If you ever find yourself on earth,” he said. “I promise you we’ll play. Until then, I bet Tresso will be more than happy to play with you.”

McCoy stood up, surveying the group. They all looked virtually unrecognizable from the people he’d first seen when he’d walked in here just a few short days ago. They weren’t completely better, not by a long shot. But their skin actually had color and the eyes that looked back at him held light.

“Take care,” he said finally, throwing up a small wave. They all waved back. Trega jumped up from her spot and rushed over to him, wrapping his waist in a tight hug.

“Goodbye, Dr. McCoy,” she mumbled.

“Goodbye, Trega,” he said as she stepped back. He smiled at everyone one last time before turning and following Fret’chin out the door.

Like he had predicted, the party was still in full-effect around them. Everyone was talking and eating and paid no attention to him as he walked past with Fret’chin. He returned the wave Tresso threw him from the other side of the party where he stood standing next to his mother, who was laughing quietly at something her husband was saying.

“Do you really have to go so soon? The party isn’t over yet,” Fret’chin said as they walked farther away from the noise.

“I have a ship full of people who need me,” McCoy told him. 

Fret’chin laughed quietly.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” he said.

They came to a stop at the same grassy hill that McCoy and Spock had beamed down to for the feast.

“Well, then, I guess,” Fret’chin said, reaching out a hand. McCoy shook it.

“You are a good man,” Fret’chin said seriously as he let go.

McCoy chuckled but didn’t respond as he took out his communicator from his pocket.

“ _Enterprise,_ ” he said into the open communicator “one to beam up.”

* * *

 

Jim jogged through the transporter room door just as transporter platform lit up. As he made his way further and further into the room, Bones’ form became more distinct. Just as Jim came to stop next to the control panel, the white light around Bones had faded. He had a wreath of flowers around his neck that contrasted sharply with the blue of his uniform. And, most surprisingly, Bones was smiling softly.

Jim frowned.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked. Bones’ smiled slipped.

“What do you mean?” he snapped defensively.

“You’ve never been beamed anywhere without grumbling or throwing out a weird, southern colloquialism. Now you’re smiling. What gives?” Jim asked.

Bones smirked as he joined him and Scotty at the desk.

“Oh, it’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand. It was something that Hyret was telling me earlier,” he said casually, eyeing Jim.

“Who?” Jim asked, confused.

“One of the villagers. From the planet. You wouldn’t know him,” Bones said, turning his head away from Jim.

Jim crossed his arms.

“You just had to rub it in, yet again, that I didn’t get to go,” Jim bit out. He watched Scotty throw up his hands defensively as he walked towards the door. Bones adopted a hurt look.

“Of course I wouldn’t do that, Jim. I would never mention how beautiful it was there or how good the food was or…”

“You’re an asshole,” Jim snapped, stalking away.

McCoy followed right behind him.  

“Or the party. Oh, Jim, those Trexins know how to celebrate!”


	23. Not a Prankster (Part One)

 “Ow!”

“Will you quit your whinin’? You’re fine!”

 “You’ve got a rotten bedside manner, you know that?” Scotty asked sullenly. He shot McCoy a glare as he twisted uncomfortably on the bed. “Does Starfleet know they’ve got a bastard running the Medbay of its flagship?”

“Do they know they have a drunk makin’ ale down in Engineering?” McCoy shot back.

Scotty went quiet.  

McCoy shook his head and resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he focused his attention back on wrapping the Scotsman’s knee. As he tied off the fabric tightly he ignored another sharply inhaled gasp. He rested back on his heels as he looked up at Scotty.

“Another couple days and you should be back to normal. Long as you don’t do anything stupid,” McCoy added with a pointed look.

Scotty’s eyebrows rose.

“Why do you assume I’ll do something stupid?”

“Because you’re here in the first place,” McCoy said simply as he stood up. Scotty pointed an angry finger.

“You know good and well I hurt my knee in a workplace accident. Nice and simple,” he said, convincing no one in the process. McCoy laughed dryly as he picked up the extra supplies from the bed.

“You tripped on the Bridge stairs. _You_ don’t work _on the Bridge_ ,” he replied.

“You know what I mean!”

McCoy smirked as gave the chief engineer another once-over. While it wasn’t a _good_ thing Scotty was stuck hobbling around the ship for a few days with a bum leg, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. When Sulu’s voice had cut through his office from the com unit on the wall, asking him to come to the Bridge as soon as possible with his medkit, McCoy had instantly been on edge; then, when the lieutenant’s voice had signed off, broken by a small laugh, the feeling had morphed into suspicion. He knew the lieutenant was working the Bridge on Beta shift, since Jim was still confined to his quarters with the cold from hell and Spock needed to sleep sometime. McCoy had rushed in and found Scotty planted firmly on the ground, his arms folded and his cheeks the barest tint of red. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the problem, Mr. Sulu?” he asked, coming to stop next to Sulu, who was crouching low next to the seated Chief Engineer. Sulu looked up at him.

“Dr. McCoy,” Sulu greeted, trying (unsuccessfully) to hid a smirk. “Can you take a look at Mr. Scott?”

“What’s wrong, Scotty?” McCoy asked, dropping to his knees and examining Scotty’s pinched face.

Scotty sighed, giving McCoy a look that spoke more of embarrassment than of pain.

“I—I stumbled coming off the stairs. I think I did something to my knee,” he said, glancing down at the joint in question. McCoy nodded, pulling out the tricorder. He ran it the length of Scotty’s body, looking at the screen as it spit out readings.

“Yeah, you did. You sprained it,” McCoy said brusquely after a minute.

Scotty had looked despondently down at his knee as McCoy tucked away the scanner. As McCoy reached down to help pull him to his feet, the Scotsman jerked his hand out of his grasp.

“I can do it!” he snapped.

McCoy and Sulu both raised their eyebrows as they took a step away at the sharp tone. They shared a brief look.

“I think he’s a little…embarrassed,” Sulu said with a slight laugh. “He fell pretty hard.”

McCoy nodded absently as they watched as Scotty slowly struggled to his feet, keeping most of his weight on his right leg. As he tried to take a wobbly step, McCoy let out an annoyed grunt before wrapping Scotty’s arms around his shoulders. Scotty tried to wiggle out but McCoy grabbed his side harder, keeping him firmly planted.

“I don’t see an ‘M.D.’ behind your name!” he barked, causing Scotty to stop his weak struggle. McCoy looked at Sulu as he passed, the younger man giving him a curt nod before he turned back to the chair.

Scotty was silent all the way to Medbay, apart from the odd grunt or quiet curse under his breath. Sulu was right. The Scotsman was probably just embarrassed, McCoy had concluded. He had decided to let the issue go, giving Scotty enough time to cool enough. But, now, after seeing him still so visibly out of character, he felt he better say something—if nothing more than to stop the man from trying to bite McCoy’s head with every word.

“Scotty,” he said, having set down the extra wrapping on the tray. “Look, there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

The Scotsman looked up from the bed sharply.

“What?

 “About what happened,” McCoy elaborated, coming to a stop next to the bed and folding his arms. “You tripped. Big deal.”

Scotty narrowed his eyes.

“I was not embarrassed. I’m a grown man, McCoy. Grown men don’t get embarrassed,” he said sternly, clenching his fists.

McCoy snorted.

“Okay, okay. Whatever you say,” he said. “I’m just saying that if a grown man, hypothetically, were to be embarrassed by, say, his coworkers havin’ a laugh at’em after he, hypothetically, took a stumble down a step, then the right thing to do would be to get back at them. Not sit around, mopin’ and feeling sorry for yourself.”

Scotty’s lips ticked up in a slight smirk as he looked up at McCoy.

“Are you suggesting I get even with the Bridge crew? How?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea. It isn’t my business,” McCoy said with a shrug. Scotty sighed.

“You could help me,” he said. McCoy laughed as he shook his head.

“Not a chance,” he said.

“Why? What else do you have to do?” Scotty asked imploringly.

“Oh, I don’t know, run an entire Medbay,” McCoy snapped back sarcastically. Scotty looked around him at the completely deserted Medbay before throwing up his hands.

“Oh yeah, I can see that. It looks like a real difficult job,” he said with raised eyebrows.

McCoy glared.

“Don’t you have your own job to be getting back to?” he said. Scotty shot him one last look before hopping off the bed with a wince.

“Take it easy today, come back same time tomorrow,” McCoy threw over his shoulder as he turned towards his office door. He took the Scotsman’s shuffling footsteps as acknowledgment of his words.

* * *

 

McCoy pulled out the empty chair next to Uhura out and sat down with his lunch.

“Dr. McCoy,” she greeted.

“Lieutenant,” he answered back.

“How is the Captain?” Chekov asked beside her. McCoy shrugged.

“Annoying as all holy hell,” McCoy said. “Word to the wise, avoid a sick Jim Kirk at all costs.”

“I take it that’s why you are eating in here with us?” Sulu asked from the seat to his right.

McCoy nodded as he picked up his fork. Today was Shepherd’s Pie day. He’d be damned if he was going to these three’s catty attitude towards Scotty ruin Shepherd’s Pie day. 

“What about Scotty? How’s his knee?” Sulu asked.

Oh he cared now, did he? McCoy eyed the lieutenant out of the corner of his eye, taking in the smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. He frowned.

“He’s fine. Thankfully. Could have been a lot worse,” McCoy said. To his shock, Uhura let out an amused snort across from him. McCoy didn’t think he’d ever heard such an undignified, unrestrained noise come from the lieutenant before. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her grin, along with the amused glint in Chekov’s eyes as he played around with his food. McCoy bit his tongue, though, and went back to his lunch.

“You guys remember that time we locked Scotty in that car with that chicken?” Sulu suddenly asked the table. Uhura and Chekov both giggled.

“That was hilarious,” Sulu continued. If possible, McCoy’s frown deepened even further.

“That was kind of an asshole move of us,” he said, looking up at the three. Uhura laughed harder, apparently not having heard McCoy.

“And when he punched out the window?” she added. Chekov moved his hands to hold his ribs as he lost control of his laughter. Sulu smiled widely.

“You know we got arrested then, right?” McCoy snapped at the three. “We could have lost _our jobs_?”

Uhura finally stopped laughing as she gave him a tight-lipped frown.

“Come on, Dr. McCoy. You know we were just having some fun then. As I recall, you were the one who was the most drunk,” Uhura replied, Sulu and Chekov quick to nod at her words.

“It’s true. By the time we got to the farm, you couldn’t even walk straight,” Sulu added with a raised eyebrow.

“And you kept saying things that none of us understood,” Chekov quipped.

McCoy opened his mouth to respond before Uhura cut him off. She had broadened her small shoulders as wide as they could go and lowered her voice.

“‘Give him two nickels for a dime and he’ll think he’s rich,’” she barked in a horrendous excuse for a southern accent that McCoy knew sounded nothing like his own speech patterns. He glared at her.

“Wait, wait,” Sulu added, grinning. “My favorite part was when we got booked at the police station. When we had to give our full names.”

McCoy was already shaking his head warningly at the Lieutenant, knowing exactly what he was going to say before he even could take a breath.

“Leonard _Horatio_ McCoy,” he said before dissolving into a barking laughter, Uhura and Chekov joining him. McCoy watched the three for a solid minute before angrily grabbing his still-full lunch plate off the table. They had officially ruined his Shepherd’s Pie. He stood up and kicked back his chair. The trio paid him no attention through their laughter He stormed away from the table.

Ten minutes later, he found himself all the way down in engineering, stalking past the large turbines and whirling machinery. He finally spotted Scotty, sitting on the ground with his leg outstretched in front of him, working on an intricate metal box. He looked up confusedly at McCoy’s glowering frame towered above him, his arms folded and his expression murderous.

“Whatever you are planning,” McCoy said through gritted teeth. “I’m in.”

Scotty’s eyebrows knitted together for only a second before he broke out in a grin.

“Alright,” he said, eyes shining with a wicked glint already.

* * *

 

They let two weeks pass.

Two whole weeks in which they did nothing or said anything out of the ordinary to anyone. McCoy and Scotty were still perfectly pleasant to Uhura, Sulu, or Chekov if they ran into them somewhere on the ship. McCoy didn’t even mention a thing to Jim when, after he finally beat his cold and returned to duty, he asked if he’d missed anything good while he’d been down for the count. He’d only shrugged nonchalantly and said “same old, same old, Jim.”

But, finally, they thought the plan they had come up with was perfect. It was a plan that, really, only the two of them could have executed.

McCoy strolled through the turbolift doors and onto the Bridge, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Jim took his eyes off the view screen as he approached.

“Bones,” he greeted with a surprised smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m actually not here to see you, Jim,” McCoy told him, walking right past Jim’s chair and coming to a stop behind Sulu and Chekov’s chairs. He reached out, placing a hand on either of the men’s shoulders.

“I need you guys to stop by Medbay after your shift,” he said. “Time for your Physicals.”

Both of them gave McCoy a nod. He turned on his heels.

“And you too, Lieutenant Uhura,” McCoy said. Uhura looked up from her controls.

“Of course, Dr. McCoy,” she said with a smile.

McCoy returned it with a grin of his own.

“Great,” he said. “See you then.”

When he turned to leave, Jim caught his eye. He was staring at McCoy with his eyebrows drawn together tight, regarding him with suspicion.

“You busy for dinner tonight?” Jim asked warily. McCoy shook his head, still smiling.

“Nope,” he said brightly. “Meet you there at 1800?”

Jim nodded, his face still not relaxed. McCoy ignored the questioning look and headed for the turbolift, whistling quietly as he did.

And he continued to whistle the entire rest of the day, loud enough that Chapel had to ask him a few times to kindly knock it off. When Sulu, Uhura, and Chekov walked through the doors of Medbay at 1500 on the dot, he stopped whistling and instead dropped into his usual discontented frown, just to keep up normal appearances.

“Take a seat, guys,” he said, gesturing at the three empty biobeds nearest to him.

He started with Chekov, doing the routine check-ups on him and running the standard tests, all the while Sulu and Uhura sat patiently waiting.

Finally, as he was wrapping up, he reached unto the tray the stood beside him, where three cups sat in a perfect row. He grabbed the first one and tossed it to Chekov.

“I need a urine sample,” McCoy said as the young ensign looked at him confusedly. “Doesn’t have to be right now. Just bring it in later tonight or tomorrow morning.”

Chekov nodded as he hopped off the bed.

“Of course, Doctor.   до свидания.”

McCoy smiled at him briefly before the kid took off towards the door.

As he finished Uhura and Sulu, he handed them the two remaining cups with the same instructions as Chekov.

“Can’t I use the bathroom here?” Uhura asked, already taking a step towards the far corner.

“No, no,” McCoy said with a light shake of his head. “I gotta have someone come take a look at it. The plumbing is acting weird.”

Uhura nodded, telling him she’d come back with it soon. He folded his arms as he watched the two lieutenants leave, a self-satisfied smirk finding a way unto his lips. He waited for a second before walking quickly to his closed office door. He pushed it open.

Scotty was stretched out in his chair, reading through a PADD. He looked up when McCoy entered.

“And now we wait?” McCoy asked, walking over to perch on the edge of his desk.

“Now we wait,” Scotty said with a grin.

* * *

 

It didn’t take long.

Before the hour was up, Scotty’s communicator was chirping.

“Scott here,” he said into it.

“Scotty,” the frantic voice on the other end said. It was Uhura and she could barely be heard over the sound of rushing water that played over the communicator. “I need you to come to my quarters. The bathroom is…the whole place is going nuts! Water is spilling out all-”

“Calm down, lassie, I can barely hear you. I’m on my way,” Scotty interrupted her. “Scott out.”

He flipped the device shut and sat up excitedly from his reclined position in his seat.

McCoy opened his mouth to say something when his office filled with the whistle of the comm unit.

“Sulu to McCoy!”

McCoy jumped up from his desk and rushed to the wall.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully concerned, despite the smile creeping up on his lips.

“Is Scotty in there with you?” came the shouted response.

“Yeah, he’s right here,” McCoy said, stepping back to allow Scotty access.

“Scott here,” he said evenly.

“Scotty! There’s something wrong with my quarters. The bathroom is malfunctioning. I need help in here, quick!”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Lieutenant,” he said solemnly. “Scott out.”

He let go of the button and turned to look at McCoy.

“Well, Doctor, I’d say our plan was a success,” he said with a laugh. McCoy allowed himself a grin.

“How long are you going to let them panic?” McCoy asked. Scotty shrugged.

“Oh, a few more minutes, I think. Then I’ll hit the switch from here to turn off the device, and get the fans remotely working.”

“What about-”

Scotty’s communicator came to life.

“And here’s Chekov, I imagine,” he said before opening it and replying cheerily “Scott here.”

“There is water everywhere!” the Russian’s panicked voice could be heard yelling, without preamble.

“I’m on my way. Just hold tight,” Scotty told him. As soon as he had hung up, he glanced at McCoy again before the two of them burst into laughter. For a few minutes, the sounds of it (that could in _no way_ be described as ‘giggles’) filled the small office, both having a clutch at something for support. Finally, they straightened up, their laughter reduced to the occasional chuckle, as Scotty reached back to the sofa for his discarded PADD. He swiped through the program that had taken two weeks to perfect.

It all had to do with the small cups that McCoy had given to the trio of unsuspecting Bridge crew members. When McCoy had stormed down to Engineering after Sulu had insulted him (‘Horatio’ was a family name, dammit!), Scotty had already been working on the small device that he would put inside it. That, when coming within three feet of its other half that Scotty had spent his day installing deep within the systems’ of Chekov, Sulu and Uhura’s bathrooms, would cause them to malfunction spectacularly. Nothing that would cause too much damage, mind you, just enough that the toilet would begin spewing water every which direction until Scotty hit the right buttons on his PADD.

“You coming with me?” Scotty asked McCoy.  McCoy shot him a look.

“It’ll look a little suspicious if I just happen to be with you. Since when do Doctors trail behind engineers on ship repairs?” he asked skeptically. Scotty smiled.

“I’m not saying you come with me to the repairs. I’m saying it wouldn’t be suspicious for the ship’s CMO to be casually strolling through the ship’s halls when I order them out of their quarters, in case it gets dangerous in there,” he finished with a solemn frown. McCoy grinned.

“Alright, let’s go.”

* * *

 

McCoy stood leaning against the walls, looking the height of nonchalance, as he kept his ears open, waiting for the sound of Uhura’s door to open. Scotty had gone in a few seconds before.

There was _whoosh,_ followed by squelching footsteps and a muttered curse in Swahili. McCoy schooled his expression into something less suspicious before he turned down the hall. Uhura paced in the middle of the otherwise deserted corridor, her fists clenched angrily at her sides. She was absolutely drenched in water, droplets hitting the floor and walls whenever she made an agitated turn. Her uniform was weight down by the sheer weight of the water and her makeup was smeared horribly. She was glaring so fiercely, her whole face was pinched and McCoy made sure to keep his distance as he approached her.

“Lieutenant?” he asked innocently, letting his eyebrows draw together in fake confusion. Uhura whipped around at the sound.

“Dr. McCoy,” she greeted, her teeth so clenched she might have been in danger of cracking a molar.

“What are you doing?”

At that Uhura threw up her hands angrily, turning away from him to focus her scowl at her own quarters’ door.

“Oh nothing,” she bit out. “Just waiting for Scotty to figure out what the hell is going on in my room. The bathroom is filled with about two inches of water. We should probably make sure Scotty hasn’t accidentally drowned in it.”

McCoy raised his eyebrows.

“Wow, that’s-” he started only to be cut off by angry, stomping footsteps echoing around the corner. He and Uhura turned in time to see Sulu storm around the corner. He was equally soaked as Uhura, his hair falling low over his eyes has he looked up at them.

“Is Scotty here? There’s a slight problem I need him to look at!” he said roughly.

“You too?” Uhura asked, folding her arms in front of her. Sulu’s eyes traveled up and down Uhura, taking in her appearance.

“Your bathroom?” he asked. She nodded shortly.

Sulu sighed heavily.

“This is just great,” he said bitterly.

McCoy stared between the two, equally angry, lieutenants, water still spilling off of them and onto the floor.

“Scotty’s probably soaked. There was water _everywhere_ ,” Uhura said, walking over to lean against the wall.

She jumped up again a moment later when, right on cue, her door slid open and Scotty walked out, not a single drop on him. He looked at the three of them with a small frown.

“Now, Lieutenant Uhura,” he said sternly, pointing a finger at Uhura. “I do not appreciate you wasting my time.”

Uhura’s mouth dropped.

“What?” she asked confusedly.

“And I don’t appreciate your sense of humor,” Scotty said. “I don’t know what you did to get that water spilled everywhere, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with anything in that bathroom.”

Uhura’s eyebrows drew together.

“But, Scotty,” she started, trailing off. Her eyes darted around until they landed on McCoy. “Dr. McCoy, you said so yourself that the bathroom in Medbay was acting up too.”

McCoy instantly dropped into a look of feigned innocence.

“What are you talking about? The bathroom’s fine,” he said. Uhura looked even more shocked. She turned back to Scotty.

“But, I didn’t-”

Scotty cut her off with a raised hand.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said, before turning to Sulu. “And what’s your problem? A real one, I hope.”

Sulu looked unsure. You could see the confusion playing out behind his eyes.

“Uh, I think so, sir,” he said finally. “There’s water everywhere and I swear I didn’t do it.”

Scotty gave him his best “disgruntled Chief Engineer” look before gesturing down the hall. “Lead the way, Mr. Sulu.”

Sulu quickly led Scotty around the corner, headed towards his own quarters. As soon as they were out of sight, Uhura whirled around to face McCoy.

“You told me the bathroom in Medbay was down!” she practically yelled. McCoy put up his hands and took a cautious step backwards.

“Lieutenant, you feeling okay? I’ve no idea what you are talking about,” he said calmly and slowly. “Go in and ask Chapel right now if you don’t believe me.”

Uhura let out a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

“Why would I do anything to my own bathroom?” she asked. McCoy shrugged.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you did it,” he said. Uhura’s glare suddenly returned, full-force and directed at him.

“I didn’t do anything!” she shouted.

“What is going on out here?”

McCoy and Uhura turned. Jim stood a few feet from them, his arms folded as he stared at them with a tight frown.

“Jim, what are you doing here?” McCoy asked quickly, stepping away from Uhura.

“Looking for you. We were supposed to have dinner, remember?” he said.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” McCoy said. “I completely forgot.”

Jim shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said distractedly. “Why are you having a screaming match with Uhura?”

“It’s nothing!” McCoy and Uhura both answered quickly. They glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes for a second before turning back to Jim.

“It’s nothing, Captain,” Uhura snapped. She turned around sharply, sending drips of water everywhere. She stalked down the hall and out of sight.

“What the hell was that about?” Jim asked when McCoy turned back to look at him after swiping at the water that had landed on him.

“Uh,” he hesitated. He was torn between telling Jim everything (he was, after all, insanely proud of himself and Scotty for pulling this off) and keeping it quiet. He knew Jim most likely wouldn’t be mad at him for pulling a prank on the three Bridge crewmen, but then again, maybe he would. He had been acting weird all day.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” McCoy said after a pause. “Rain check on dinner? I’m kinda busy now.”

“Doing what?” Jim asked suspiciously. McCoy scowled.

“Stuff that doesn’t involve you, Jim. I do occasionally have a life outside of you and yours you know.”

He didn’t wait for a response before pushing past Jim, who stood staring at him, completely dumbfounded.

* * *

 

That night found Scotty sitting on the edge of McCoy’s desk in his quarters, a glass in his hand. McCoy sat in the chair, legs propped up on the desk’s surface as he took a long drink from his own glass.

“I gotta hand it to ya, Scotty,” McCoy said suddenly, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between the two as they had enjoyed their drinks. “The way you yelled at those three today was pretty damn convincing. I thought Chekov was going to start crying.”

Scotty took another drink as he let out a low chuckle.

“Poor lad. He was soaking wet,” Scotty said with a shake of his head. McCoy smirked.

“Yeah, he was.”

As Scotty finished the last of his drink, he stood up from the desk with a yawn, reaching his hands up to stretch the muscles in his back.

“Knee still not actin’ up?” McCoy said. Scotty nodded with a smile.

“I’m right as rain. Especially after today,” he said, heading for the door.

“Goodnight, Doctor,” he said as the door slid open.

“Night, Scotty,” McCoy replied, tipping his drink towards the Scotsman.

As soon as he was gone, McCoy took another drink from his glass, smiling in content as he leaned farther back in his chair.

* * *

 

Exactly six hours and 54 minutes later, McCoy was jerked from his peaceful sleep by the sound of all hell breaking loose.


	24. Not a Laughing Matter (Part Two)

The sound of an alarm blaring all around him had McCoy’s eyes snapping open. He sat up quickly, turning his head towards the wall at the flashing red light.

As the ship’s CMO, he had a system installed in his room so he could be alerted from Medbay if they needed him; basically, anytime a crewman came in with a lot of blood where it shouldn’t be, he was called. Usually, though, Dr. Toll or one of the nurses just commed him, told him the situation, and he decided if he should come down. The alarm was only used in those situations where McCoy was needed _right the fuck now_. He had only heard it twice since starting on the _Enterprise_ and each time was still vividly seared into his memory. But never had it been so late at night. What the hell could the crew have gotten into at three in the morning?

He threw back the blankets quickly, his brain still not fully comprehending its wakeful status. He stumbled over to the corner where his boots where, sloppily yanking them on as fast as he could before running out the door. Even though the lights were dimmed lower this time of night (or morning), they still hit him hard. He squinted as continued running down the halls, all of them completely devoid of crewmen. He rushed through the turbolift doors and smacked the button, hard. They opened a few seconds later as it reached the right floor and he took off.

He’s feet faltered on the slick floor of Medbay as he ran through the entrance, his arms going out to try and steady himself. He stumbled over to the nearest bio bed, clutching it, trying to catch his breath.

“What’s the situation?” he yelled. He looked up only to see…

He whipped his head to look around the room frantically, but there wasn’t blood anywhere, nurses yelling, or a single patient in any of the beds. As he continued to lean on the bed while he tried to figure out what was going on, Nurse Henson walked out from the back labs. She frowned.

“Dr. McCoy? Are you alright?” she asked timidly, her eyes traveling up and down him.

“I’m fine, dammit! What’s the emergency?” McCoy snapped back at her. She raised her eyebrows.

“What emergency?”

“The one you just called me for!” McCoy yelled, getting fed up with the guessing game. Henson frowned, shaking her head.

“Dr. McCoy, we didn’t call you. We haven’t had a single patient since you left,” she told him, using a voice McCoy knew was the one she used to talk to hysterical patients. He glared, throwing up his arms.

“Then why the hell am I here?” he barked.

“Because you should never mess with someone who knows how activate the emergency alert system in your room.”

McCoy turned around at the voice behind him, only to see Uhura and Chekov seated on the ground by the back wall. Uhura was smirking unabashedly as she looked up at McCoy while Chekov was glaring at him, his arms crossed over his small frame.

“What?” McCoy asked, his brain still not running at normal levels yet.

Uhura reached beside her and grabbed a small object, tossing it to him. Surprisingly, even having just woken up, his reflexes were alert enough to catch it. He rolled it over in his hand.

It was the empty urine sample cup he had given each of them earlier.

“You should have known we’d figure out it was you,” Uhura said.

“Da,” Chekov piped up. “We are not stupid.”

McCoy brought up a hand to rub at tired his eyes.

“You know Scotty was the mastermind, right?” he asked with a sigh.

They both nodded.

“That’s why right now, he’s probably down in the engine room, wondering why he was told there was an emergency with the cooling systems when there very clearly isn’t,” Uhura informed him.

“I see,” McCoy said. “I’m assuming that’s also where Mr. Sulu is.”

Again, they both nodded.

“We wanted to make sure he looks as hilarious as you do,” Uhura said.

McCoy quickly looked down at himself and let out another heavy sigh. He was still in his pajama pants, tucked into his boots, and a ratty Ole Miss t-shirt. He could only imagine what his hair looked like, undoubtedly having been pushed wayward as he slept. He could only be thankful that only Henson, Uhura, and Chekov had seen him.

He nodded his head resignedly, coming to terms with all that had happened in the space of the last five minutes.

He turned away from the bio bed, heading towards the door.

“Goodnight, Dr. McCoy,” Uhura called cheerfully.

* * *

 

“How was your wake-up call this morning?”

McCoy turned at Scotty’s voice behind as he examined the large cabinet of medicine in the corner of Medbay. The Scotsman had his arms folded, yet he was smiling.

“Shitty,” McCoy admitted with a smile.

“Sulu was laughing so hard, he was doubled over.”

“Nurse Henson thinks I had a psychotic break,” McCoy added lightly. Scotty chuckled.

“They got us pretty good,” he admitted. McCoy nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, they did,” he said.

Scotty’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“What if we were-”

“No, no. _No_ ,” McCoy cut him off with a firm shake of his head. “Do whatever you want, but I am officially out. I told that to those three today at lunch and I meant it.”

Scotty stared at him a moment, thinking hard, before finally he sighed.

“You’re probably right,” he said.

McCoy nodded absently as he scrolled through the PADD he just picked up.

“You get this message from Jim?” he asked Scotty, frowning. Scotty shook his head.

“We’re supposed to go to some meeting at 1300,” McCoy said, handing the PADD over to the engineer.

“Oh no,” Scotty breathed, eyes shifting as he read the message.

“What?” McCoy asked, coming behind him to read over his shoulder. Scotty pointed at top of the message, at the part that listed all recipients who had received it; there were only five names on there.

“Dammit, he knows,” McCoy said with a groan. “He knows about the pranks and he’s called us all in to yell. This is just like Nebraska all over again!”

“Now hang on,” Scotty said calmly. “We don’t know that. The message doesn’t say _why_ he wants us. There could be an away mission coming up and he wants all us all there. That’ll be fun.”

McCoy gave Scotty a look that was half exasperation, half pity at the genuine hopeful nature of his voice.

“You know exactly what this means. It means that we’re gonna have to spend the next month walking around this ship with our tails between our legs to make sure Jim gets that we understand we screwed up- _just like Nebraska._ ”

“Damn,” Scotty said lowly. “This isn’t good.”

McCoy rubbed a hand along his face.

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”

* * *

 

Scotty, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu and McCoy all arrived at the conference room fifteen minutes before they were scheduled to meet Jim. All of them were silent the entire time, avoiding eye contact out of guilt and anticipation. How pissed was Jim going to be at them this time? Jim was their friend, but he was also their Captain whose anger was something that was usually only reserved for enemies. They all hadn’t forgot the verbal beatdown Jim had given them in that jail cell in Nebraska and weren’t likely to ever.

Jim strolled through the doors at exactly 1300, his hands clasped behind him and his mouth a thin line. He glanced around at them all as he came to rest at the head at the table, a good seven or eight feet from where everywhere sat. His eyes darted between Scotty and McCoy.

“Dr. McCoy, Mr. Scott,” he said and instantly, everyone knew whatever he had to say to them was going to be worse than they had ever expected. Jim didn’t call McCoy anything but Bones apart from reports and official meetings with anyone outside the crew. Sometimes, he did it jokingly, his voice dripping with laughter and his eyes bright. This was very clearly not one of those times. “You both look tired. Early morning?”

His voice took the entire question out of the words, leaving it a cold, flat statement that they knew he did not want an answer to. Jim shifted his gaze over to Chekov.

“And Ensign, is there a reason I heard you asking Lieutenant Adams if you could use his bathroom yesterday? Is there something wrong with yours?”

“No, sir,” Chekov answered so quietly, McCoy barely heard him even though he was sitting right next to the kid.

Jim was silent for a whole minute, surveying the five of them with narrowed eyes. Finally, he leaned forward, his palms resting on the flat of the table.

“You are officers,” he said darkly. “Aboard Starfleet’s flagship and yet you thought the time best use of your time was doing what exactly? _Having a prank war_?”

All five of them let their eyes drop to table’s surface, avoiding looking at Jim as he continued.

“What if your little trick with the bathrooms had caused damage to the ship? What if Mr. Scott or Dr. McCoy had been injured in their hurry to answer the emergency? And then we got into a real trouble and we didn’t have our CMO or Chief Engineer? Did you think about that?”

No one answered.

“No,” Jim supplied for them. “You didn’t.”

Again, Jim let silence compete with the tension for most heavy feeling in the room.

“You’re dismissed,” Jim finally bit out, turning his back on them. As the door slid open, though, he abruptly stopped, one shoe out the door.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” he said loudly.

He turned back to look at them all. He dug in his pocket for a second before pulling out a white tube with a flourish and holding it up to the light for all of them to see clearly.

“What is that?” McCoy blurted.

“This?” Jim said, admiring the bottle with an affectionate smile. “Oh, I’m glad you asked, Bones. This is the only thing keeping you guys from leaving this room.”

“What?” Uhura asked sharply. Jim smirked at her.

“It’s the only thing in the entire universe that will dissolve the adhesive on your chairs,” Jim explained.

“On…our chairs? What do you mean?” Chekov asked, looking at the seat around him.

“What’s with the 20 questions?” Jim quipped. “I thought it should be easy enough to figure out. I had Spock whip up a batch of this nifty paste that I then slathered all over the chairs you are currently sitting in. Unless you want to rip the pants right off of you, I suggest you not try to get up.”

With that, he turned back towards the door.

“Wait, Jim!” McCoy yelled. “You aren’t going to just leave us here, are you?”

Jim waved a hand dismissively.

“You’ll be fine, Bones. I’m just going to let you guys sit and have a good hour or two to let it sink in that maybe next time you want to start pranking each other, you remember to include your Captain.”

“Jim!” McCoy called again.

Jim threw him one last grin before the doors slid shut behind him.

McCoy looked quickly around at the rest of the table, their faces acting as a mirror to his own shock and anger. McCoy had known Jim had been acting weird the last few days, but he hadn’t really put much thought into it. He’d been too distracted by goddamn nonsense he’d been dragged into by the idiots around him.

“Unbelievable!” Scotty said loudly, slamming his hands down on the table.

Just as Sulu opened his mouth to say something, the doors to the conference room slid back open and Jim walked in again, shaking his head lightly.

“What’s unbelievable, Scotty, is that you guys actually believed me,” he said. He tossed the white tube up into the air before catching it with his other hand.

“This is Lieutenant Dixon’s hand cream,” he said. “You think I would actually glue you to chairs? What am I, 13?”

The group just merely looked at each other, unsure of whether to believe Jim.

“Seriously, you can get up. Your pants are safe,” Jim said, laughing.

They looked at each other one last time before they all cautiously lifted up from their seats, ever so lightly. When they weren’t met with resistance of any kind, they all stood up quickly. Scotty whipped around to look at his seat, but apparently didn’t see anything suspicious.

Jim continued to laugh heartily.

“Oh man, you should have seen you’re guys’ faces!” he managed to say between chuckles. “That was too good.”

McCoy folded his arms as he glared at Jim.

“Are we done now, _Captain_? I have a job to be getting to,” he snapped. Jim just continued to laugh, reaching out both hands on the table to keep himself upright.

McCoy sighed heavily, stalking towards the door.

“Wait, wait, Bones,” Jim said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “I just thought this would be a real _bonding_ moment for all of you.”

“Oh, go to hell, Jim,” McCoy said roughly as Jim promptly burst into hysterical laughter again.

McCoy pushed past him and headed out the door.  

 


	25. Not Funny

Jim was too quiet and it was making McCoy very, very nervous.

Jim didn’t do melancholy, but he was a fan of reflective masochism. But this wasn’t his usual “memories of a sad, tragic backstory” type of silence. This was the kind of silence that usually meant he was about to ruin McCoy’s day with a smile, so the longer McCoy went without acknowledging it the more studying he would get done.

“Bones.”

He kept his back to Jim, staying bent over the kitchen table and reading his PADD.

“Bones, hey.”

McCoy sighed, heavily and without self-respect.

“What, Jim?”

He turned around in his chair in order to look at Jim, who was spread out on the couch with a PADD on his chest.

“I’m bored.”

“Okay.” McCoy turned back around. Jim being bored was a thing he’d made peace with long ago. Jim being bored was, more often than not, a prelude to Jim being stupid. Or drunk.

“Tell me a joke.”

“Absolutely not. Get help.”

“Booooooooneeeesssss.”

“No, Jim.”

_“Bones.”_

He dropped the PADD onto the desk.

“What,” he started, rolling his eyes despite knowing Jim couldn’t see it. “Is the difference between a man in shorts riding a bicycle and a man in a tux riding a tricycle?”

McCoy waited.  

And waited.

And waited. Until, finally…

“I don’t know…”

“Attire.”

He picked the PADD back up and went back to reading. He highlighted a paragraph. Scratched his nose absently. Frowned at an odd-worded phrase in the book.

“Oh my God.”

He heard Jim push himself off the couch.

“Bones, _no_.”

McCoy turned around. “What?”

Jim was standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed. He looked physically pained.

“That’s…no. That’s…the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

McCoy threw up his arms. “Well excuse the fuck out of me, Jim! I didn’t have time to prepare anything better.”

Jim shook his head.

“No, no. I love it,” he said quietly. “Attire. _A tire._ Oh my God, I’m going to use it all the time now!”

He looked up with a stupidly excited smile.

“Bones. God bless you.”

McCoy stared blankly. Jim nodded.

McCoy turned back around slowly.

“Attire,” Jim whispered to himself, one more time.


	26. Not a Hostage

The weird thing was, the conversation was actually going better than he had anticipated.

“Jim.”

“No.”

 “ _Jim_.”

“ _No_. No way in _hell_. End of discussion, Bones.”

“This shouldn’t even be a discussion! You’ve never stopped me from going on a mission before now.”

“That’s because you’ve never actually wanted to go on one!” Jim laughed in that condescending way that McCoy absolutely hated. “You don’t go planetside unless I drag you down there myself, so excuse me for being a little confused about all this.”

McCoy slammed his hand on the table, for effect more than anything. “But this isn’t one of those stupid ‘look at me, I’m Captain Kirk’ missions. Those pirates are violent and now you’ve got them cornered. You know damn well things are going to go to hell the second you go down.”

“Exactly!” Jim yelled. “I’m not sending you on a suicide mission, Bones.”

“But you’ll go?” McCoy bit back, standing up because he had finally had enough of Jim being above him. Jim was being incredibly _Jim_ about the whole situation and McCoy was well and truly annoyed by now. The last time they’d run into the pirates, Jim had lost way too much blood and McCoy had lost way too much of his day off fixing that. But there wasn’t much he could do about that now. He sighed and changed tactics. “Jim, I know you won’t listen to me if I ask you not to go down there. So at least let me go so I can keep an eye on you. Don’t be a martyr.”

Jim stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“Your job is here, Bones. I can’t risk taking you.”

“But it’s not a risk, dammit, it’s security! If I hadn’t been there last time, you’d be dead.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

McCoy counted to ten in his head.

“Don’t. Be. An. Idiot,” he managed.

Jim’s face uncomfortably pinched and he looked up.

“You’re dismissed, Dr. McCoy.”

_And there it was._ Jim’s go-to move whenever he was on the losing-side of an argument with anyone on the crew. McCoy could count on one clumsy engineer’s hand the number of times he’d actually used it on him, though. McCoy was always Jim’s exception, just as Jim was his for most situations.

“Aye, Aye, Captain,” he saluted in the most sarcastic way he could manage.

Jim was refusing to look at him. Probably. McCoy was too busy not looking at him to verify. Instead, he kicked his chair away and headed out the door of the conference room, irrationally pissed that Starfleet’s automatic doors were incapable of being slammed.

* * *

 

The thing about the _Enterprise_ was that, as a crew, they were good at pretty much everything. Every hobby, every skill, was essentially covered by someone on board. They had an Andorian poet working in Engineering, a yeoman who was a celebrated auctioneer, Spock who accomplished things occasionally or whatever. They were good at everything, except for doing nothing, which they were absolutely shit at.

 McCoy sat at the end of a biobed, glaring at the nothing (i.e. everything) while Christine sat at the opposite bed, tapping her foot lightly. Everything was ready, set out, and ordered for when they got the call. There was no if, because this was Jim they were talking about. McCoy would love it if Jim made sure he—and the rest of the landing party—returned completely unharmed, just to spite McCoy. He would sit through an entire month of Jim’s _i-told-you-so_ grin if that would be the case. That smile was stupidly attractive on him, though that was neither here nor there.

McCoy folded his arms.

Jim, Sulu, and the security team should be back by now. They only had a dozen of the pirates to pick up. Unless, of course, their intel was wrong and there were more than a dozen on planet. Because that would absolutely a thing that would happen to them again. McCoy liked to think that Sulu would keep Jim in line, to keep him from continuing the mission if they were outnumbered, but he also knew that Sulu was a great soldier when it came down to it. So, if Jim really pushed it, Sulu would probably listen to him. Which was admirable and fucked up and McCoy was very torn on his feelings about Sulu.

And his feelings about Jim. He was still incredibly angry at him. Their fight would continue on for at least a couple days, eventually dissolving into passive aggressive PADD messages to one another. Despite his reputation as hot headed, Jim was inspiringly well-versed in passive aggression.

“Does the captain know you worry this much about him?”

McCoy looked up at Christine and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not worried about him,” he snapped. “I’m worried about his mission.”

“Ohhhhh,” Christine smirked. “Is that what you crazy kids are calling it these days?”

 “I’m going to throw a bed pan at you.”

Christine just smiled wider and went back to watching the door.

“I think he does know,” she added after a minute. “And I think he kind of likes it.”

“It sounds fucked up if you say it like that.”

“Well I mean it,” Christine laughed. She looked up at him sinerely, which was very annoying. “You worry about him, he worries about you, and the whole crew gets to revel in your adorable little angsty dance.”

“Jim does not worry about me,” McCoy leaned forward in his seat. “He worries about his CMO. That is entirely different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes _._ ”

“But is it?”

“ _Yes_.”

“But Leonard, is it?”

“YES.”

“Alright,” Christine shrugged.

They went back to watching the door.

“I just feel that it isn’t that different.”

McCoy jumped off the bed and headed for his office. Christine could go suck a dick. Of course he’s worried about Jim. But she didn’t have to make it sound so pathetic. McCoy objectively knew that he sometimes worried irrationally but _this was Jim_. He’d be insane not to worry about him. Jim needed to be worried about but Jim worrying about him was unheard of, mainly because McCoy always tried his best to never give anyone any reason to worry about him. Worry was just the incestuous cousin of pity and McCoy would rather, you know, drunkenly join Starfleet and volunteer to travel a million and a half miles away from Earth than have to deal with people and their pity.

Just as he was beginning to think about drafting that out into a passive aggressive note to Jim _and_ Christine, the comm on the wall put a halt to it. Which, in all fairness, was probably for the best.

“Spock to Dr. McCoy.”

He nearly tripped over himself to get to the wall fast enough.

“How bad?” was how he replied. As CMO, he strived for efficiency.

Spock paused for only half a second before catching up. “Mr. Sulu and one of the criminals were injured. The Captain did not go into detail as to the extent.”

“Jim’s okay?”

“He is unharmed.”

“Alright,” McCoy sighed. “ETA?”

“Five minutes.”

“We’ll be ready. McCoy out.”

He dropped his hand from the button swung open the door.

“Chapel, we got incoming.”

“I know,” Christine responded, already setting out a few hypos next to the nearest bed. “Your office isn’t exactly soundproof, Leonard.”

_See? Efficient._

“Should we call in more help?”

“Let’s see what we have first,” McCoy said, rolling up his sleeves. “Unless you’re too busy psychoanalyzing your boss to work.”

“I can multitask.”

“Mmhmm,” McCoy sarcastically nodded. “Prep regen and get a couple lines started.”

He was just pulling up Sulu’s medical history when the man himself fell through the door. Hendorff was there to catch him before he could hit the floor.

“Dr. McCoy,” Hendorff grunted, helping Sulu to a bed.

“Hendorff,” McCoy nodded. “What’ve we got?”

“Leg wound. Probably a knife, judging from the blood. We couldn’t really see much around it.”

“Lieutenant?” McCoy asked gently, taking the tricorder from his pocket. “Are you with me?”

Sulu jerked his leg away as soon as McCoy put a hand on his knee, which was good enough for a yes. There was blood—a lot of it. But owing to the fact that Sulu was alive, the knife couldn’t have hit anything too major. Pulling apart the jagged pieces of fabric, McCoy could see a perfectly sloped cut that was filthy in a way that almost certainly mean infection.

Sulu tried to pull his leg away again.

“Hey, stop it,” McCoy said quietly, stepping back. He allowed Christine to step between him and the bed with the right hypos.

“Get him started on an antibiotic line, set the timer.”

“Timer?” Sulu spit out, keeping his eyes closed.

“Yeah,” McCoy sighed. “We can’t start regen on your leg ‘til we make sure we’re not sealing in an infection with it. Takes about 20 minutes but we’re going to stop the bleeding and numb it, so you should feel too much pain. Sound alright?”

Sulu took a shaky breath a nodded.

“Alright then, Christine’s going to get that started for you and I’ll be right back,” McCoy turned away, back towards Hendorff.

“Where’s the other one? The pirate?”

Hendorff looked towards the door.

“They were bringing him in behind us. He’s unconscious and weighs 300 pounds.”

“Fair enough. How bad was he?”

“No idea,” Hendorff shrugged. “He wasn’t dead, from what we could tell. There was too much blood to see much.”

“I take it they fought dirty?”

Hendorff shook his head as the security team slid through the door. “You’ve no idea, doc.”

McCoy pushed his sleeves up higher. The man being dragged along by a couple of red shirts was, without exaggeration, the biggest man McCoy had ever seen. Maybe the fact that he was covered in blood added to the shock factor of his appearance, but still.

“Put him on the bed,” McCoy called, reaching for new gloves. He wasn’t fucking around with whatever dark age diseases pirates carried with them.

The dropped him on the bed and McCoy ignored the way the earth seemed to shudder.  

“We’ll send another security team around in a little bit,” Hendorff said, patting McCoy on the shoulder as he passed. “Captain needs us in the brig.”

“Go,” McCoy said calmly, pulling the tricorder out again. “We’ll handle it.”

Hendorff rounded up his mean and left McCoy staring cautiously at his new patient. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that this very well may have been the man who stabbed Sulu or the one who stabbed Jim last time they met. He was, however, thinking about how large his hands were in comparison to McCoy’s head.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said finally. He took a step closer with a self-preparatory nod. The tricorder buzzed as it scanned, while McCoy tried to figure out the source of the blood . The guy had an obscenely large beard, though that wasn’t really important. It was just the thing McCoy focused in on immediately, for some reason.

“Update, Chapel,” he called over his shoulder.

“Sulu’s out,” Christine appeared on the other side of the bed. “We’ve got another ten minutes before he’s clear for regen. What’s the diagnosis here?”

The tricorder beeped.

“Uh,” McCoy hesitated. “Nothing.”

Christine looked up.

“What?”

“His stats are completely normal,” McCoy said, tossing the tricorder aside and leaning over the figure in the bed. “The machine must be out of sync again.”

“Should I call security?”

“Yeah,” McCoy said, tilting the pirate’s head slightly. “Just to be safe.”

Christine took off towards McCoy’s office while McCoy reached towards the bloody wrist nearest him.

But a hand grabbed his first and before he could even indignantly yell (or process it at all, really) he was being yanked forward by the man in the bed. The pirate threw a very calculated punch that caught McCoy along the jaw and sent him to the ground. The man rolled off the bed with surprising agility and rolled his shoulders absently.

“Hello,” he said quietly, walking over to McCoy. “Are you the one in charge here?”

McCoy rubbed at his jaw, but said nothing. The pirate smiled before kicking out at McCoy’s ribs. _“Are you the one in charge?”_

McCoy glared up at him a moment before nodding shortly.

“Alright then,” the pirate smiled widely, yanking McCoy back up to his feet by the back of his neck. “You’re coming with me.”

McCoy met Christine’s eyes as soon as he was upright. She nodded without even needing him to say anything. As the guy pushed McCoy towards the door, McCoy dropped down quickly, upsetting the pirate’s weight distribution and causing him to stumble slightly. McCoy took his chance, throwing up an elbow to hit the guy to the ground  before running to the access panel on the wall. He pressed 716 into the keypad and closed his eyes in bare-minimum relief. In less than a second, the alarm started; the air went out, the lights flashed red, and the doors shut with mechanic finality.

Medbay was officially in lockdown.

And McCoy was officially in trouble.

Then pirate didn’t react right away. No, instead he just stared at the door calmly, possibly resigned while the lights wavered. McCoy breathed heavily, a protective arm across his ribs as he leaned against the wall. He looked from Christine, who was still frozen halfway to McCoy’s office, to Sulu who was glaring righteously from his bed, and finally back to the pirate.

“Well fuck,” the guy sighed, shaking his head at McCoy. “That was really stupid of you.”

“I know,” McCoy swallowed roughly. The pirate nodded before walking over to McCoy very slowly, at very at ease.

“Alright,” he said, before grabbing McCoy by the back of the neck again and slamming him hard into the wall.

McCoy hadn’t seen that, nor the ground, coming.

* * *

 

“Damn, I’m good,” Jim sighed, watching as the last pirate shuffled through the door of the brig. Jim grinned over to Spock, who was looking right back at him.

“You succeeded in your mission.”

See, even Spock was impressed. Jim grinned. Truly, he had out done himself on this one. 26 criminals, crooks, outlaws, and ne’er-do-wells locked behind bars and headed for trial back on Earth and it wasn’t even noon. Hell of a way to start a day. And yeah, okay, Bones was probably still a little pissed at him, but come on. This was badass. _He was badass._ Bones couldn’t stay mad for long, especially if Jim showed up at his door tonight for the expected glass of celebratory bourbon. Jim clapped Spock on the shoulder and turned around.

“Let’s call the admiralty, shall we? Tell them the good news,” Jim said excitedly. They passed through the door, just as Hendorf came through.

“Sir,” Hendorf greeted, standing at attention.

“Hendorf,” Jim replied, with a tip of his chin. “How’s your pirate?”

“Bloody and unconscious, sir,” Hendorf said nonchalantly. “Doc’s looking at him now.”

“Sounds good,” Jim said. “Get somebody down there to stay with him, just in case.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Do you think this is medal-worthy?” Jim continued to Spock. “I mean, these people are wanted by the federation and we brought them in without a hitch. That sounds pretty medal-worthy to me.”

“I believe that admiralty will take our failed previous mission with the pirates into account when debating commendation.”

“Well, sure, they could,” Jim argued as they rounded another corner. “But I feel like it’d be better if they just looked at today for what it is: another resounding victory for the Federation at the hands of its flagship captain.”

“Hmmm,” Spock commented dryly, as close as an agreement that Jim was going to get about it, so he might as well quit while he’s technically ahead.

Before he could think of a change of subject, however, the ship did it for him. The nearest access panel flashed red, once, before a deep alarm sounded around them. Jim looked from the ceiling to Spock.

“Lockdown,” he said quietly. Spock nodded before running over the panel on the right. He pushed sharply at the screen.

“Which department?” Jim asked, joining him.

“Medical.”

Jim’s stomach dropped.

“Biohazard or security threat?”

“General system lockdown,” Spock said with a frown, continuing to run through controls. “There is no way of being sure unless we access the cameras.”

“Get up to the bridge, call Starfleet,” Jim told him, already turning back. “I’m going to security to manage things from there. Have Uhura trying the comm system, see if Dr. McCoy or Chapel will answer.”

Jim didn’t wait for Spock’s answer. He was already running.

_Dr. McCoy. Not Bones._

That was an important distinction in his mind. He had to say it out loud.

_Dr. McCoy. Not Bones._

The level of at-removed recognition was the only thing keeping him from spectacularly freaking out. Dr. McCoy was a trained professional, the best damn doctor in the quadrant with enough degrees and commendations to be recognized as such. He was trained to handle emergency situations.

Dr. McCoy was different from Bones. Bones was…Bones was Bones, and all that entailed. Dr. McCoy could be in an emergency situation. Bones could not. Jim had worked so hard to keep Bones out of emergencies, and not just because Bones asked him to. He did it because he was selfish. He knew, objectively, that if anything happened to Bones on Jim’s watch, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Bones was, after everything, the thing he knew he couldn’t live without. And that scared him.

Jim shook his head. _Dr. McCoy. Not Bones._

“What’ve got?” he called, sliding through the door of security. Hendorf and the other security officers looked up from their panels.

“It’s the pirate, sir,” Hendorff supplied, turning back to the screen. “We think he was playing possum. As soon as I left, he was up. Cameras show a small fight before the doc got the place in lockdown. We can see ‘em but we can’t hear anything and Uhura said they’re not answering.”

“Show me,” Jim said.

A lieutenant stepped back , allowing Jim to step up next to Hendorf to see the layout of the screens in front of them.

“Dr. McCoy’s down,” Hendorf said quietly. _No no no no no no no no no no no no no no. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out._ “Took a hard hit after the pirate saw him get the alarm activated.”

Jim nodded tightly, as evenly as he could.  “Chapel? Sulu?”

 “Chapel’s fine, Sulu’s still stuck in the bed with that knife wound. Pirate’s tying them up now with the restraints from the bed.”

“Using them as hostages. Not surprising,” Jim said, getting closer. He had three different views of Medbay on the three different screens in front of him. The first showed Bones’ empty office, the second the labs, and the third was the overheard view. Sulu was on a bed, looking pissed off. He had one wrist strapped down, keeping him from moving too much. Besides that, his leg would have been probably been enough to keep him down. Chapel was tied to the bed next to him, her wrist twisted up to reach the restraint from where she sat on the floor. And Bones- _Dr. McCoy_ \- was on the floor next to her, his head in her lap.

He wasn’t moving and Jim wasn’t breathing.

“Can we cancel the lockdown protocols from here?”

Hendorff shook his head.

“We don’t have the code,” he said. “The system won’t let us do it without it, in case of a biohazard.”

“Who has the codes?”

“Dr. McCoy, Chapel, and Toll.”

“Page him, get him down here,” Jim told to a passing ensign. “Is the room sealed completely? Any access panels to the Jefferies tube?”

“None. Even the air supply cuts out. They’ve got about 36 hours, so it is nothing to worry about. Yet.”

“Okay, okay,” Jim said, rubbing his hands together. “Okay. He’s going to want to get off the ship. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Hendorff agreed. “He might even want to get his friends out.”

“No, he wouldn’t risk it. Not with the alarm being raised,” Jim said. “He’ll just want out.”

“He’s gonna threaten one of them to give him to codes, or to get us to give him the code. Smart money’s on Chapel. She’d be the easy target to him.”

Jim hit his hand against the console edge.

“No, he’ll use Dr. McCoy. ”

Hendorff looked at him. “Why?”

“Because Bones is a fucking bleeding heart.”

* * *

 

_“Leonard.”_

He doesn’t really want to wake up, but Christine seems adamant.

At least, he assumes its Christine. Whoever is talking to him is wearing the same lilac perfume as Christine wears and has the same voice. So, QED.

“Leonard, can you hear me?”

McCoy swallowed roughly.

“Yeah…” he groaned, shifting uncomfortable. “I…I can hear ya.”

“Thank God. Don’t move too much, your nose is broken.”

McCoy opened his eyes.

“I figured,” he groaned. “ _Fuck_.”

It hurt like it was broken. No, it hurt like it was shattered. He could feel it dripping blood down his chin and he blinked up at Christine.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Christine shrugged as she looked around the room but didn’t say anything. He moved slowly, sliding off of Christine’s lap and sitting up as much as he could.

“Sulu? How’s the leg?”

“Been better,” the lieutenant said. McCoy nodded and reached a hand up to take Sulu’s pulse.

“Your heartrate is too fast.”

Sulu gave him a look. “Are you kidding me?”

McCoy shrugged.

“Shouldn’t security be here by now?” Christine asked, not taking her eyes off the pirate’s back as he paced near the door. McCoy wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Probably having a hard time overriding the lockdown code,” he hissed.

“So we just sit here and wait?”

“He’s not armed but we can’t risk fighting him,” Sulu whispered. “I can’t move and Dr. McCoy is seeing triple right now.”

“First of all, it’s only double. Second of all, no shit we can’t attack him. The guy weighs 300 pounds and plays by prison rules.”

“ _Pirate rules_ ,” Sulu corrected.

“Exactly. Waiting has the lowest chance of ending with our bloody and senseless deaths.”

Christine obviously still didn’t like it, but it wasn’t like they had many more options. As they had already established, McCoy was absolutely useless in a fight. Even though he couldn’t wait to tell Jim he’d actually managed to get a few hits in against the pirate. Jim would be proud of him and that gave him a hollow sense of happiness, somewhere deep down underneath of the broken nose and bruised brain. He also knew, objectively, that he could make Jim even happier if he managed to get out of this alive. He could already picture it now. The pirate would be taken down to the brig and Jim would be there, helping pull McCoy to his feet. And he’d be smiling.

He had to stay alive for that smile.

“But why aren’t you tied up?” Christine interrupted.

McCoy shrugged. “I don’t know. He probably thought I’d be out longer than I was. It’s not like he hit me _that_ hard.”

“No, he did. Trust me, your nose is shattered.”

“Just let me have this, Chapel,” McCoy glared. He looked up at the pirate, who was still pacing in front of the door. So far, the pirate had proved himself to be a very cliché captor. Honestly, it was insulting how predictable he’d been thus far.

“Should we say something?” McCoy asked the other two, looking back at them.

“What would we say?” Sulu whispered. “Besides, it would probably just remind him that he’s got three perfectly torturable captives at his disposal.”

“What do you have to worry about?” Christine snorted. “You’re the last choice for who he’d pick as a target.”

“And what are you worried about?” McCoy cut in. “You know good and well we’d never let him use you.”

“I do know that. I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you because you’re an idiot who’s going to try and defend me. You and Jim are the same person sometimes, I swear.”

McCoy glared at her, but didn’t say anything. She had him there. That is exactly what his plan was. The pirate may be a predictable, but McCoy was an even worse cliché.

Back at the front of the room, the pirate cleared his throat.

“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” he called back to them.

The three of them looked at each other, unsure whether they were actually supposed to respond. After a beat, McCoy braced himself.

“They can’t open the doors. They don’t have the clearance,” he said.

The pirate nodded, looking back at McCoy with an unnervingly casual smile.

“But you could unlock it, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to,” he said.

_Dammit it all, Christine was right._ That was such a Jim thing to say. Mouthing off to pirates was not something even remotely McCoyish.

“Oh okay,” the pirate nodded. He stopped in front of the large cabinet they kept supplies in, looked McCoy dead in the eye, and punched the glass. He bent down and picked up one of the larger shards.

“Unlock the door,” he said, walking back to the three of them. “Or I slit her throat.”

McCoy couldn’t meet Christine’s eye, knowing good and well it would shake his confidence. And he needed to be confident, absolutely sure of himself in this moment. He needed to be Jim.

“Touch either of them, and I’ll never open those doors.”

The pirate stopped, leaning against the end of Sulu’s bed.

“That’s very… dumb of you to say.”

“I know,” McCoy swallowed. “Starfleet ha very specific rules about being a hero.”

“So, what? Because you’re in charge, you have to volunteer as sacrifice?”

“Essentially.”

“That sucks.”

McCoy shook his head.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

The pirate laughed, which was either a very good sign or a very, very bad one.

“So you’re saying that no matter who I threaten, those doors are not going to open unless you put in the code?”

“Yep,” McCoy lied flawlessly.

“You’re lying.”

Okay, a little less than flawlessly.

“Maybe I am,” he said, confidence shaking. “Either way, you’re fucked.”

“Am I?”

McCoy nodded and they fell into silence. McCoy looked at Christine finally. She was biting her lip as she rubbed at the restraint on her arm. Sulu was  leaning up on the bed, as much as he could, looking at McCoy shakily. He needed to have that leg stitched up an hour ago. The pirate was tapping the glass against his thigh absently. Okay, McCoy took back what he said earlier. The pirate wasn’t as predictable as he’d figured. The guy was smarter than his profession suggested.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you, isn’t it?”

McCoy looked up.

“What?”

The pirate sighed before looking down at McCoy. “When your captain opens those doors, which I know he will because I’m not an idiot, luckily I’ve got you to use as a trade. I would use your nurse, but I like you more. Besides, I have a feeling you’d try to attack me if I touched her and that would be very annoying.”

“The captain won’t negotiate,” McCoy said.

“We’ll see.”

Jim won’t negotiate. He can’t. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t, no matter how desperately McCoy wished he would. McCoy was fucked, he knew that. The pirate was never going to make it off this ship and he would probably take it out on McCoy. McCoy really didn’t like that option, partly because that was a stupid, pointless way for him to die. But mainly because he knew Jim would was never going to forgive himself if he let McCoy die. Jim and guilt were even closer friends than Jim and McCoy.

Well to hell with that.

“Get up,” the pirate said, nudging McCoy with a kick to the ribs. McCoy winced, but remained seated.

“Get. Up.”

He kicked harder, but McCoy just glared. He had no intention of making his death an easy one, if that’s what was going to happen. The pirate sighed before losing patience. He reached down and grabbed McCoy roughly by the neck.

McCoy locked eyes with Christine just as he felt the pirate yank him back roughly, keeping him pressed tight against him by the hand around his throat. It made it hard to breathe and harder to focus on anything other than the glass pressed against the side with the pirate’s other hand.

There were footsteps outside the doors, a lot of them. That would be Jim and the security team. Thank God. One way or another, McCoy figured, those footsteps meant things would be over soon. Either the security team would somehow manage to save his ass or he’d bleed to death in minutes when the pirate finally lost patience and pressed harder with the glass.

_That’s a little dark, Bones._

That was Jim’s voice in his head. He really didn’t want to hear Jim’s voice in his head, he wanted to hear it out loud. He wanted Jim to kick open those doors and save the day. He wanted Jim to make him forget about his concussion and his broken nose. Jim would make the pirate stop choking him and he’d try to make McCoy laugh while doing it. Because that was Jim.

With that thought, the alarm went silent.

The red lights stopped.

The air kicked back on.

The pirate squeezed tighter on McCoy’s neck, cutting off air completely for a few seconds. He walked to the center of the room, dragging McCoy along with him.

“Showtime,” the guy whispered.

Jim, Hendorff, and six other red shirts ran through the doors, filling out the room quickly and efficiently. McCoy tried to avoid looking at Jim. He really, really didn’t want to look at Jim. Looking at Jim was one of his favorite things to do but not right now. He’d lose whatever level of acceptance he had about dying if he looked at Jim. He’d save that until the very end.

McCoy took a shaky, choked breath.

“Dr. McCoy, are you alright?” he heard Jim ask. Before McCoy could even begin to nod, the pirate squeezing tight on his throat. McCoy’s air was cut off completely.

“He’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” the pirate snapped. McCoy fought weakly against the pirate’s forearm.

“Let him go and you’ll make it out of this alive,” Jim said sharply.

For several seconds, no one moved. Jim and the pirate stared at each other, testing their respective resolves. McCoy squeezed his eyes shut.

“Let. Him. Go.”

Suddenly, the pressure on McCoy’s throat was released and he sagged instantly, coughing dryly as he breathed in as much as he could. But the pirate still kept the glass shoved tight against his neck.

“Let me go or I’ll kill him. You have my word.”

Another tense pause. McCoy wasn’t seeing double anymore. He wasn’t actually seeing much of anything anymore, but he knew this must have looked bad. They couldn’t play this game forever. McCoy took another breath before doing, arguably, the stupidest thing he could have done.

He threw his elbow up, hitting the pirate straight in the eye. When the pirate loosened his grip on McCoy, he took off, trying to duck out of the way quick enough for Jim to get a shot off. But it didn’t quite work that way. The pirate reacted with an easy punch of his own, catching McCoy’s broken nose again. The effect was blinding. Everything cut out instantly, replaced by a sharp ringing in his ears. Distantly, he was aware of the pirate’s hand back on his throat. He couldn’t breathe if he wanted to.

The pirate was yelling now, as was Jim and the security officers, but McCoy was numb to it all. His face was throbbing and he wanted nothing more than for Jim to save the day. He blinked roughly, his vision sliding back into place. Jim was there, looking straight at him from across the room.

Jim raised his phaser higher and, in an instantly, McCoy got it. He understood what came next. It was the only way he was going to make it out of this and, all things considered, it was relatively simply. He made sure he looked Jim straight on before he managed a shaky nod. Jim nodded back and pulled the trigger.

And that’s all McCoy really remembered.

* * *

 

 

Someone was calling his name. But quietly, so it was actually more comforting than anything. In between his name, there other words, but he liked the sound of his name best.

_“Bones. Come on.”_

They just made it sound nice. He couldn’t explain it.

“Bones.”

It made him fully content to just stay exactly where he was. Something softly tapped against his cheek and that’s when the illusion shattered.

He snapped his eyes open, looking around wildly to figure out where the hell he was.

_“Bones.”_

“Jim?” he whispered, his voice catching.

“Yeah, it’s me. Try not to talk, okay?”

He could actually see Jim now, looking down at him with a small frown.

“You…shot me.”

Jim’s frown twitched into a smile.

“Yeah I did. Don’t talk,” he repeated.

McCoy breathed in as deep as he could, ending in an embarrassing wheeze. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to pass out.

“Hey,” Jim pressed a thumb to the corner of McCoy’s mouth, wiping away the blood that was there. It tightened McCoy’s throat even more. “You’re okay.”

McCoy tried to move his head, to see around Jim, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

“Christine’s with Sulu, getting his leg taken care of. They’re alright. Don’t worry.”

McCoy looked back up at Jim, just as Jim looked back down. Even though he didn’t really quite get it at that moment, McCoy knew this was an important moment. A moment he’d have to process later, when he wasn’t bleeding on Jim’s lap.

“Bones,” Jim said finally, but it wasn’t right. Like before. It sounded like he wanted to say something else. He must have changed his mind because he shook his head shortly before looking back at McCoy.

“You’re okay,” he repeated.

Because Christine was petty like that, she chose that exact moment to clear her throat.

“Leonard,” she sighed, both relieved and annoyed as she dropped down next to Jim. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

Like hell?

Like hell frozen over?

Like hell thawed and reheated?

“Actually, that was a stupid question. You probably feel like shit,” Christine said, pulling out a tricorder from her pocket.

McCoy nodded weakly.

Being hit by a phaser was…not great. Actually, it was pretty fucking terrible. He was still alive, so obviously it could have been worse but still. Phasers set to stun hit the nervous system and sent it into overdrive. And he was feeling the ramifications of that now. Everything ached and dragged and felt completely wrung out. Except of course his face, which was throbbing in delightful agony, and his throat, which felt ripped raw.

“The tricorder tells me exactly what you’d expect,” Christine said, tucking it back in her pocket and frowning down at him. “Concussion, broken nose. You shouldn’t talk for a few days. And you are absolutely not coming in to work for the rest of the week.”

McCoy twisted his head so he could glare up at Jim, who only shrugged sadly. “She’s right, Bones. If it makes you feel any better, Christine can’t come back until Friday.”

“Exactly,” Christine said. “As soon as I get your nose fixed up, you and I are on mandatory leave. One of the perks of hostage taking.”

  McCoy closed his eyes with a very tight sigh. This was already annoying.

“I know it’s annoying, Bones. But deal with it. You got shot. You deserve a fucking break.”

McCoy looked up at Jim with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay, I’m the one you shot you. You get vacation time regardless of it was friendly fire.”

“Think you can make it to the bed?” Christine cut in, pushing herself up off the ground. McCoy closed his eyes for a second, taking stock to assess himself. The answer, he knew, was “no” but he still felt he better give it a try.  He nodded.

“No, he can’t,” Jim said. “But I got it.”

“Dammit, J-”

“Don’t talk!” they both yelled suddenly.

Jim pulled McCoy’s arm firmly over his own shoulders before slowly standing up, dragging McCoy with him. McCoy only stumbled slightly.

“You’re okay,” Jim repeated.

They sat down on the bed next to Sulu’s. The lieutenant was passed out, the regen unit on his leg humming quietly as he slept.

“Here,” Jim said, handing McCoy a towel. He still kept a hand tight on McCoy’s bicep, either out of possessiveness or stability.

McCoy winced as he pressed the towel to his nose. _Son of a bitch._

“I know,” Jim said sympathetically.

McCoy closed his eyes, leaning his elbow against his thigh.

He didn’t know where the pirate was, or how long he’d been out, but he really didn’t care. He just wanted to go to bed.

“You want me to sedate you?” Christine asked from his other side, rolling up with the regen unit.

McCoy firmly shook his head. He turned to Jim with a pleading look.

“He doesn’t like being sedated,” Jim translated.

“Well he’s an idiot. This is going to hurt.”

McCoy just kept looking at Jim as he nodded.

“He knows.”

He did know. Of course he knew putting the mess of bone and cartilage in his face back together was going to hurt like a son of a bitch. But he also didn’t want to be sedated.

“Alright then, lay back,” Christine said. “Bite a whiskey soaked rag, or whatever it is you southerners do.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow.

“ _You’re_ from the south, Christine,” Jim said slowly.

“I’m from _Louisiana_ ,” she corrected. “That doesn’t count.”

McCoy shook his head but lay back anyway. He looked up at Jim. Not that he was complaining, but Jim shouldn’t be here. Jim had captain things to do elsewhere on the ship, of that he was sure. There was no need for him to be here, babysitting McCoy.

“I’m not leaving, Bones. Don’t even say it.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. Now Jim was just showing off.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes and some manly tears later, and Bones was sitting up in bed, gingerly touching his newly repaired nose. Everything was back as it should be and the only thing that showed it was the spectacular black eyes he was going to be sporting for a couple days. True to his word, Jim hadn’t left; he’d stayed patiently at Bones’ bedside, switching from quiet awe to loud disgust as he watched the regen work its magic on Bone’s nose.

Jim was watching Bones. It’d probably be another couple days before he could stop feeling the possessive need to watch Bones. Bones was okay. He was fine. He’d be back to normal this time next week. Jim knew that but he was still having a particularly hard time accepting it. Probably because, less than an hour ago, he’d shot Bones in the chest.

So he was a little emotional

Bones was handling it as well as expected. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but they’d worry about that after they got out of Medbay.

Jim was, in all honesty, insanely proud of Bones and he couldn’t wait to tell him

Bones wouldn’t stop itching his nose, and Jim didn’t have the heart to tell him to knock it off. He just looked so miserable, sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet swinging slowly off the edge. Bones looked up and caught Jim staring.

He grabbed the PADD and stylus Christine had given him and wrote out a message. He turned it so Jim could read it.

_Can I go now?_

“Why are you asking me?” Jim laughed. “Ask Christine.”

Christine, who was checking on Sulu, squinted to read up the PADD screen McCoy and held up for her.

“In a minute. Whether you like it or not, you’re going to take something for the pain.”

Bones quickly began writing out a response to that before Jim reached over and knocked his hands away from the PADD.

“Sounds good, Christine,” Jim smiled.

Bones shook his head at Jim and wrote out another message.

_You’re a hypocrite._

“Well so are you,” Jim said, indignant. “You’re always getting mad at me for playing hero. And now here we are.”

Bones thought for a minute.

_In my defense, I really tried not to be._

“Mmmhmm,” Jim said, but he still was smiling. “You’re a big damn hero and you loved it. Just admit it.”

Bones shook his head again, this time more adamantly.

_Everything hurts. Being a hero sucks._

“A little suffering is good for the soul.”

And, mission accomplished, Bones smiled; one of those incredibly rare Leonard McCoy smiles that were so genuine, they always hit Jim like a punch to the stomach.

“Alright, that’s for late,” Christine danced back over to them, handing Jim a hypo before effortlessly stabbing Bones in the neck with another one. “And that’s for now.”

Bones wrote on the PADD again.

_Can I go now??????_

Christine sat down on the edge of the bed. “Yes, but, I’m serious, Leonard. You are not coming back until Monday. Dr. Toll already signed off on it.”

Bones glared at her for a few seconds (Christine, naturally, glaring right back) before he sighed and nodded like a pouty child. Christine smiled and looked up at Jim.

“You got it from here?”

Jim gave her a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said. She turned to Bones. “Leonard, thank you for saving me. I still think you are an idiot. But I appreciate it.”

Bones looked entirely uncomfortable at the praise, but nodded anyway and waved Christine out the door. Jim turned back to Bones.

“Ready to go?”

Bones frowned.

_Where?_

“Your quarters? You just made a big stand about wanting to go,” he pulled Bones up by the arm. “I know you’re pretty tired, but I thought we could watch a movie until you fall asleep. The catch is, I get to pick it. Last time you picked, we ended up getting drunk and watching fucking _Gone with the Wind._ ”

Bones stopped in his tracks to give Jim a look.

“Okay, you’re right, that was kind of awesome. But still, I’m picking it.”

Jim punched in the code to Bones’ quarters.

“Let’s not do any action movies,” he said as the door slid open. “Let’s do a comedy. Nothing that’ll make me cry.”

Jim dropped down on Bones’ bed only to look up and see Bones frowning at him from the doorway.

“What’s that for?”

Bones wrote out on the PADD before walking over to the bed and showing it to Jim.

_You don’t have to babysit me, Jim._

“I’m not babysitting you, Bones. We’re having a movie night to celebrate the fact that you’re still alive. Now get over here and get comfortable, because you’re fucking stuck with me.”

Bones sat down, but continued to frown at Jim. After a few seconds, Jim lost patience.

“Just say it, Bones.”

Bones wrote slowly and deliberately on the PADD.

_I was really mad at you this morning_

“I know,” Jim said quietly.

_I’m still really mad at you._

“I’m sorry.”

_Also, you shot me._

“I saved your life!” Jim corrected.

_I know. Thanks, by the way._

Jim laughed and leaned back on the bed. He studied Bones’ ceiling for a couple seconds. There was a lot he should probably say.

“I’m really,” he paused. “I’m really proud of you, Bones.”

Slowly, Bones lay beside him until they were looking at each other.

And that’s when everything went to shit. Because, it was at that exact happenstantial moment, that Jim realized how hopelessly in love he was with his best friend.

He looked away from Bones, back towards the ceiling.

“Oh shit.”

 


	27. Not in Love with Jim

It was a little difficult to get into the movie after that.

Bones had fallen asleep ten minutes in, his head dropped on Jim’s shoulder, which was definitely not helping anything.

Jim stared at the screen while everything he thought he knew about the world imploded violently.

Bones. He was…in love…with Bones. Bones. His Bones. The one drooling on him. That Bones. He was the one making Jim’s heart do stupid flip flops.

But honestly, who hadn’t had gay thoughts about their best friend?

Especially when your best friend was Leonard McCoy, who just so happened to be the hottest mess of a man Jim had ever seen in his life. He’d accepted that day one of their friendship; Bones had been hungover, unshowered, and still Jim frighteningly attractive. It was just that he had the whole “tall, dark, and handsome” thing going on that occasionally made Jim’s knees weak. Not to mention Bones’ smile, which was the closest thing to honest perfection Jim had ever seen and Jim just _really_ liked the way Bones said his name and—

Okay, yeah, he probably should have realized how far gone he was a hell of a lot sooner.

Bones shifted closer to Jim and Jim tensed up.

This wasn’t new. Though neither of them were particularly touchy-feely people, they were with each other. They had just never really been concerned about crossing lines because, between them, there really hadn’t been any lines to begin with—they were just naturally that good at sharing space. Two halves of a fucked up whole. When he put it like that, the whole Big Gay Freak Out seemed inevitable. Which left Jim feeling incredibly off-balance. The universe couldn’t have known Jim was in love with Bones before Jim did. That wasn’t fair.

But was in love with Bones? Or was it just Stockholm Syndrome? Either way, Jim knew he was fucked. Completely, utterly fucked all because Bones was a wonderful fucking person who made Jim feel like he was a better person than he objectively knew he was.

Jim looked down at Bones, because no one was there to know.

“You’re an asshole,” Jim sighed, honestly.

Bones made Jim a better. He made Jim into something he could actually be proud of, so of course Jim had fallen in love with him. Bones had saved his life long before Khan ever stepped on board. And Jim wasn’t so humble to deny that he hadn’t done the same for Bones. The Leonard McCoy he’d met on that shuttle wasn’t a version of Bones he’d seen since their second semester. He didn’t take all the credit, but he took his fair share. For both of them, day one of their friendship was rock bottom and they couldn’t have come back from that without help. They were Jim and Bones and that was never going to change.

Jim wouldn’t let it.

 He settled more comfortably against Bones and went to sleep, knowing his Big Gay Freak Out could wait until morning.

* * *

 

McCoy woke up feeling warm, comfortable, and absolutely shitty.

He knew that didn’t make any sense, but after his day yesterday, he felt entitled to not make sense. He was lying on Jim, that he knew for sure. He could hear him snoring, in sync with the slow rise/fall of McCoy’s head. It was nice, actually. The right amount of grounding McCoy needed right now.

His face hurt. A lot. His throat hurt. A lot. But this was nice. Waking up beside Jim was always nice. It reassured him that Jim hadn’t left him. That they could still be Jim and Bones when the day started. He never slept better than he did when he knew that Jim was next to him. It was unintended side-effect of Jim’s death, McCoy. McCoy had stayed all day, all night, next to Jim’s bed when he’d been in the coma. Hearing him breathe was the only thing keeping McCoy going at that point. If Jim wasn’t breathing, then McCoy had failed and there was no point to anything anymore.

Jim was just that important to McCoy. Jim represented the things McCoy loved most on the ship and on Earth too, if he was to be honest. Jim was home and McCoy would never stop loving th--

McCoy opened his eyes, slowly turning to look up at Jim. _He would never stop loving that. That being Jim._

He felt something shift and give, until finally aligning with inevitability.

_Oh shit._

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

He pushed away from Jim’s side, stumbling into the bathroom as fast as he could.

No, no, no, no. This was not happening. No. Absolutely not. No way. _No._ Nope. Fuck no. Jim and him...he wasn’t… _no._ Not like that. No, no, no. He braced himself on the counter, breathing in and counting to ten. He wasn’t having a panic attack because this was not happening. He definitely wasn’t even thinking about it. He wasn’t thinking about how nice it would be to wake up next to Jim every morning for the rest of their lives. He wasn’t thinking about how much Jim needed him or how much he needed Jim. He wasn’t thinking about how Jim was the only thing on this ship that kept McCoy from losing himself completely. Nope. Not even kind of. Jim was a horrible friend, a terrible roommate. And, frankly, he was hideous, face-wise. He definitely wasn’t sunshine personified. McCoy could go his whole life without ever seeing that stupid grin on his stupid face again, that’s for damn sure.

_He was not in love with Jim._

He let go of the counter and slide down it until he was sitting on the cold floor, miserable and lying to himself. He’d been lying to himself for a while now because he knew there was no way he would have followed Jim to space if he hadn’t been a little bit in love with him. McCoy was way too selfish to ever let Jim leave without him. Jim’s smile was too important to him and he lived for the days that he got to see it.

Because he loved Jim.

Because was in love with Jim. Probably always had been it just took a broken nose and _Gone with the Wind_ to make him realize it.  

_Fuck._ He dropped his head against the counter. He was so fucking screwed. Jim was…Jim. He was McCoy’s best friend and only saw him as such. There was no way McCoy could jeopardize that. He’d rather take his secret to the grave than ruin his friendship with Jim. Without Jim, nothing made sense. He couldn’t go on being Bones without him.

At just like that, Jim became the very best and very worst thing to ever happen to McCoy.

“Bones? Are you dead?”

McCoy looked up at the closed door.

“Bones?” Jim yelled again.

McCoy opened his mouth to tell Jim to go away at let him and let McCoy hate himself in peace, but then he remembered pirates and hostage-taking and closed it. Which was fine by Jim, who immediately waltzed through the door like he wasn’t the reason for McCoy’s bathroom breakdown. He zeroed in on McCoy sitting on the floor. He dropped to his knees, grabbing McCoy by the wrists.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking McCoy over possessively. “Should I call Christine?”

McCoy shook his arms out from under Jim, in order to push him back slightly. He waited for Jim to look at him in the eyes before shaking his head.

“Then why are you on the floor?” Jim asked, falling back to on his heels.

McCoy shrugged, because what was he supposed to say? _Because I love you and I’m worried I’m going to fuck everything up? Because I think this is the first time I’ve ever looked at you the right way?_

“Are you shrugging because you just don’t want to tell me?”

McCoy shrugged again.

“Are you going to keep shrugging until I change the topic?”

McCoy glared up at him.

“Okay,” Jim sighed, pushing himself up. “Whatever, suit yourself. Let’s go get breakfast. I gotta be on the bridge in a couple hours.”

McCoy shook his head and pointed to the door.

“I’m not leaving you on the floor, Bones,” Jim said. “You’re freaking me out. Let’s go.”

McCoy swallowed. He couldn’t skip breakfast with Jim. Jim might think something was up. It was paramount Jim never thought something was up, so McCoy held up his hand for Jim to help haul him up. Jim looked down at him, frowning, before McCoy pulled his hand back quickly. _Be cool, Leonard._

He pushed himself up with only a minor twinge of agony.

“Maybe you should go see Dr. Toll first. You still don’t look so hot. Not that you do usually. Just normal temperature. For you.”

He was not going to see Toll. There was…wait, yes. _Perfect._ That was a ready-made excuse to avoid making a fool out of himself in front of Jim. He quickly grabbed the PADD off the bed.

_I think you’re right. I gotta make sure the bones healed aright._

A lie. His bones were completely fine, he made damn sure of that before he left Medbay. But Jim didn’t need to know that.

Jim nodded.

“Okay, then we’ll stop by there first before breakfast.”

_No, no, it’s alright,_ McCoy wrote. _You go on without me. I can’t eat much anyway._

Jim looked at the message, then up to McCoy. Then back at the message.

“Are you sure you—”

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Okkkkaaaayyyy…” he said. “See you…at lunch then?”

_Yep. As usual. No problem with that. Great._

Wow. Even in writing, McCoy was still managing to sound like the biggest idiot in the quadrant. Wonderful.

“Lunch as usual. Great,” Jim said, walking backwards to the door. “That’s great.”

_It’s great._

“Great,” Jim repeated loudly, tripping slightly against the door frame. “Lunch with me. And you.”

McCoy waved him out the door and suddenly panicked. How did he usually wave to Jim? Was it more wrist, less hand? More elbow?

Before the doors closed, Jim waved with both hands and McCoy realized that was probably the right way. He dropped to the bed.

He couldn’t even keep it together for ten minutes. How was he supposed to do this _for the rest of his life_?

* * *

 

As soon as Bones’ door was around the corner, Jim immediately found the nearest wall and slammed his forehead against it repeatedly.

“That was so fucking dumb,” he groaned. “Why are you the worst? You can’t even hold it together for ten fucking minutes?”

He let his head drop a few more times in abject misery. He’d waved with both hands for fuck’s sake. He didn’t deserve to be in love with Bones. He didn’t even deserve to be Captain anymore. He couldn’t even stand the idea of sitting in the cafeteria with other crewmembers. They’d be able to sense his failure.

He hit his head a little too hard against the wall panel.

“I deserved that,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I deserve shame.”

He couldn’t live like this. He wanted to tell the whole world how utterly infatuated he was with Leonard H. McCoy. But he also wanted no one in the world to ever even begin to consider the possibility. He wanted to tell Bones because Bones was just as shit as emotional stuff as Jim and made Jim feel slightly less helpless. But he couldn’t because this was all Bones’ fault.

He went back to hitting his head, vindictively hoping a bruise would form.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he sighed.

“What is this?”

He tilted his head to see down the hall. Uhura was standing a solid ten feet from her, arms folded.

“Please pretend you don’t see me right now,” Jim groaned. “Go about your business. Be young and carefree. Appreciate your ability to love. Cherish Spock for all that he is.”

He hit his head again. And again. And again.

“Stop that!” Uhura yelled, walking quickly over and pulling him away from the wall. “Are you drunk? It’s 6:30 in the morning!”

“I’m not drunk,” Jim said defensively, yanking his arm out of her talons.

“Are you…sad?” Uhura said, taking a step back.

“Just leave me alone, Ny,” Jim sighed. He pushed around her, towards his quarters.

“Jim, wait,” she called back. “Tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

Jim paused, debating quietly for a few seconds. It couldn’t get any worse, really, so he turned back around.

“You’re going to laugh or hit me or something.”

Uhura put her hands up. “I’ll try not to.”

Jim took another minute before finally grabbing her by the arm. Uhura immediately smacked his hand away.

Jim looked her.

“You deserved that one.”

“Fine. Follow me,” he said, heading around the corner. He wasn’t having this conversation outside of the strict confines of his quarters. Even there he was still paranoid Scotty would somehow be able to hear. Oh God, Scotty would never be okay with this. Bones was his friend! He’d hate Jim for even thinking about it! Jesus Christ.

He entered his code and gestured Uhura inside.

“You can sit,” he gestured vaguely at the couch in the corner. Uhura sat on the arm lightly, watching Jim.

“Okay,” he started, stopping his pacing to look at her. “Okay, so something happened.”

Uhura waited, stoically.

“Something big,” Jim stressed. “Life-changing, you could say. I mean, my life is now broken up into two sections: last night, and every night before last night. In the biographies they’ll write about me, they’ll be—”

“If you don’t tell me in two seconds I’m leaving.”

Jim took a deep breath and turned around.

“I’m in love with Bones.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, waiting for any reaction. Instead, Uhura just stared at him blankly.

“Wait, what?” she said finally.

“Bones,” Jim repeated. “I’m in love with him. Stupid love.”

“No, no, I got that,” Uhura said, frowning. “You’re just telling me that…you didn’t know that until last night?”

“What? No!” Jim threw up his arms. “Of course not! This is _Bones._ I can’t be in love with Bones!”

“But you are,” Uhura said. “How did you not know? I’ve known since the Academy! The whole ship probably knows. _Spock knows_.”

“No he doesn’t,” Jim snapped. “He can’t! No one can know. God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Why? This is great! Half the ship just earned a lot of money in the bet. I can’t wait to send in your guys’ form to the admiralty.  You know you aren’t immune to that, right? You still have to fill out B9X324 just like every other couple on board.”

Jim dropped onto the couch beside her, groaning. “Uhura, no! That’s the problem. We aren’t dating. Bones doesn’t know!”

Uhura sat up straighter.

“Oh. Well go tell him.”

Jim looked at her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Uhura shrugged. “It’s that simple, Jim. Go tell Leonard, get your form signed, and then have Sulu buy you guys a drink because he just came into an insane amount of money.”

“First of all, betting is illegal on board. Second of all, it’s not that simple. Bones doesn’t…Bones would never…he’s _Bones._ He’d never…”

“I’ll bet you a thousand credits he does.”

“What did I literally just say about betting?”

“You’re an idiot,” Uhura pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I know,” Jim dropped his head into his hands. “But I can’t tell him. It would ruin everything. He’d get a transfer off this ship and then I’d have to quit because what would even be the point of the final frontier without him and then you’d all die at the hands of your new captain.”

“You’re so dramatic, I want to throw up.”

“Thanks,” Jim said miserably. Uhura sighed before putting her hand tentatively on Jim’s shoulder.

“Tell him. Even if he doesn’t feel that way, which I’m telling you he does, Leonard is not the kind of person who is going to freak out.”

“Leonard McCoy, freak out? Yeah, you’re right. That never happens.”

“Trust me,” Uhura said, standing up. “Stop hitting your head on walls. Change your clothes. Look less miserable. I’ll see you on the Bridge.”

“This talk didn’t help at all!” Jim called after her.

“I can’t help you if you don’t want help, Jim.”

“ _That’s_ dramatic.”

Uhura walked out the doors without a backwards glance.

* * *

 

McCoy had waited until he knew Jim was on the bridge before going to breakfast. Contrary to his earlier conviction, he had actually gone to see Toll. Than man had confirmed what McCoy had known but also offered him something for his throat. The bruises were still there, but the pain wasn’t. He could talk somewhat, even though there wasn’t much he wanted to say.

He looked down at his oatmeal, feeling judgement even from it. How stupid could he be, falling for Jim? Jim, the one person in the entire galaxy he couldn’t stand to lose was now perfectly in the position to do just that. He’d find out McCoy was in love with him, get him transferred to avoid the awkwardness, and McCoy would be shipped off to some outpost in the middle of nowhere. That would be the practical thing to do, but it was also the worst possible outcome McCoy could imagine. If he couldn’t be next to Jim, there was no point being in space. He’d go back to earth, work at Starfleet Medical. Or maybe he’d quit all together. He’d hit a whole new rock bottom, one he had even dreamed of.

A tray dropped done beside his.

“I couldn’t help noticing you moping from afar,” Christine said, pulling out the chair.  She looked McCoy up and down. “You look horrible.”

“Thanks.”

“And you’re not supposed to be talking.”

“It’s fine,” he snapped back, his voice a little rough. “Toll cleared me.”

“Emotionally or just physically?”

“I’m fine, Christine,” he sighed, pushing around his spoon.

“Your sad puppy eyes say different.”

McCoy dropped his head into his hands.

“Go away,” he said miserably.

“Hey,” Christine said, her tone flipped completely. “Talk to me, Leonard. What’s wrong?”

McCoy kept his head on his folded arms but still looked up at her.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Because I…” he stopped, clearing his throat. “Because Jim. I’m…sort of…in love…with him.”

He dropped his head again, hating himself for actually saying it aloud. It made it sound all the more pathetic.

“Hot damn!” Christine yelled suddenly, slapping her hand on the table. McCoy looked up. “This is incredible. Rand owes me so much money, holy shit.”

“What?”

Christine laughed, incredibly patronizing in every sense of the word. “Did you really not know about the bet?”

_“The bet?”_

“Leonard, half the ship knew you and Jim were going to end up together. It’s the worst kept secret in the federation. Nyota is going to lose her mind.”

“We’re not together, Christine. That’s the problem.”

Chapel sobered up immediately.

“What?” She snapped. “No way I was wrong. I called that day one!”

“Well, I’m so sorry it’s inconvenient for you, Christine,” McCoy snapped, kicking back his chair.

“No, Leonard, wait,” Christine said, grabbing his arm again. “Tell me what happened.”

McCoy glared at her a minute before dropping back down.

“Nothing happened!” he said. “Besides me coming to the realization that I’m an idiot.”

“Because you didn’t realize sooner?”

“Because I just ruined the best part of my life!” McCoy said. “Me and Jim can’t be friends if I’m head over heads for him. I can’t put that on him.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You haven’t told him?”

“I can’t! Did you not even listen?”

“No, I did. It’s just such bullshit, I had a hard time keeping up.”

_“What?”_

“Leonard, come on!” Christine said, throwing up her arms. “Don’t lie to me but mostly, don’t lie to yourself. You have to know that Jim is crazy about you. You should have seen him yesterday! As soon as you dropped out of the way, he lost it. He attacked the pirate. Hendorf had to pull him off.”

“That’s just a captain thing.”

Christine’s face dropped.

“ _A captain thing?_ No, you emotionally stunted caveman. It’s a _I love you_ thing. Jim loves you. You love Jim. There is literally no problem.”

“Jim _does not_ feel the same.”

“You can’t know that unless you ask.”

“I won’t risk it.”

“Then you are an idiot.”

Christine grabbed her tray and walked away, leaving McCoy to glare after her as he stalked out the door. She had no fucking clue how important Jim was to McCoy and how much it would hurt to lose him. He’d rather spent the rest of his life keeping this a secret than tell Jim. He just had to start practicing on how to go about it.

He leaned back in his chair and stared pissily at his oatmeal.

* * *

 

Jim was staring at the stars, pissily.

The Bridge was his favorite place in the entire world, yet he couldn’t be more miserable. He could feel Uhura looking at the back of his head, but he refused to acknowledge her. She’d been entirely unhelpful. Not only was he still stuck on what to do about the whole “madly in love with Bones” thing, he now how to work out how to phrase a ship-wide memo about gambling still be frowned upon. Especially gambling about his love life.

His tragic, depressing love life.

He sighed heavily.

The lift gave its signature pneumatic hiss as the doors opened and Jim’s heart picked up double time. He turned, expecting Bones. Except it wasn’t Bones.

“Christine?” Jim tried to put on a smile. “Is this your first time on the Bridge?”

“Yeah,” Christine said shortly, walking quickly to where Jim sat.

“Well, welcome, let me show—”

“Save it. This is more important,” Christine waved her hand dismissively, stopping in front of Jim’s chair.

Jim frowned, leaning back in his chair. “What’s up?”

“Leonard is in the cafeteria trying to drown himself in blueberry oatmeal because he’s in love with you and thinks that you don’t feel the same. Which is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard because I’ve never met two people who are more in love than you two idiots. We’ve been on this ship for two years and watching you and Leonard sit together in the cafeteria and hold each other’s hands in Medbay when you think the other can’t see and do your little Tuesday date night thing was fun at first but I’m done. _I’m done_. Now it’s just frustrating for everyone because I legitimately thought you guys were never going to figure it out. You have no idea how incredibly dumb you both are and I want to hit the two of you with a book.”

Christine took a deep breath and glared at Jim.

Jim really wanted to hit his head against the wall again.

“Christine…”

“No, Jim!” Christine snapped, taking a step forward. “This is shit. Everyone on the Bridge knows it. Except Checkov, who just lost money to Sulu.”

Jim turned to look at Chekov, who looked like he wanted to die.

“And Spock didn’t bet, but you know he wanted to,” Christine said, pointing at the first officer.

“I did not,” Spock told Jim calmly.

“He did!”

“No.”

“Whatever,” Christine sighed. She twisted Jim’s chair around, placing her hands on the arms so Jim couldn’t move away. “Leonard loves you, you love Leonard. Go fix it.”

Jim looked her, really, really wanting to hate her right now. He sighed. “You couldn’t have chosen a worst place to yell all of that?”

“It was important,” she said firmly.

Jim smiled. “Yeah, I know. Cafeteria?”

Christine nodded. “Table in the back, looking sad next to a bowl of oatmeal.”

Jim laughed and pushed himself out of his chair.

“Spock, you’ve got the conn.”

He walked calmly to the lift, stepping in and giving Christine a salute before the doors closed.

God bless, Christine Chapel. She was going to get a raise. She could be his new first officer. Spock would understand or Uhura would help him to understand that Christine was an angel and deserved to be treated as such.

The lift opened up and he strolled through, taking time to smile at everyone crewmen on their way out of breakfast.

Bones looked exactly like Christine described him and Jim grinned. He walked to the table in the very back, with heavy, wide strides. Bones didn’t notice him until he was standing next to him.

“Hi,” Jim said quietly.

“Jim,” Bones frowned, looking panicked. “What are you—”

“Bones,” Jim said, more sure than he had ever been of anything else. He wasn’t good at this and there was no way he could possibly summarize what Bones meant to him. But that was okay. They’d hopefully have time for that later. No more being angry at the inevitable. “I love you. A lot. Like, a stupid amount of love and I cannot believe I didn’t realize sooner because I’m pretty sure I’ve known since the minute you threw up on my shoes that I didn’t ever want you to leave.”

He left it at that, because he’d covered all the major talking points he’d worked out in the walk over. _Love you_ , check. _Witty reference to our meeting_ , check. _Desperate but endearing plea_ , check.

Which was good because, like always, Bones knew exactly what Jim needed to hear. He pushed his chair back slowly, calmly set his spoon down and looked at Jim with a smile.

“How could you possible think I’d go anywhere without you, dumbass?”

Jim laughed, feeling very stupid and very relieved. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“But so are you.”

Bones laughed. “Yeah.”

“Last night I had a Big Gay Freak Out during _Gone with the Wind_ ,” Jim said, honestly, because it seemed like an appropriate confession to make. “You were drooling on me.”

“Okay,” Bones nodded thoughtfully. “Weird.”

“I know.”

“This morning you were snoring and I had a weird Vietnam-like flashback to your coma. And then I had a Big Gay Freak Out.”

“That’s adorable.”

“ _That’s_ weird.”

They looked at each other for a minute. Or ten. Jim wasn’t counting.

“This is going to be so much fun,” he said quietly.

“And a lot of trouble,” Bones added, taking a step closer. But there was an excited rush to his words that Jim had never heard before.

“I love you,” Jim said.

“I love you,” Bones repeated, just as sure.

“If I kiss you, you aren’t going to throw up are you?”

“You’re an unbelievable ass, you know that?” Bones laughed, but he pushed forward and grabbed Jim by the front of his uniform.

Jim met him halfway and kissed him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.


	28. Not a Student

_“James.”_

Jim stretched as he woke up, feeling the bed dip as someone sat on the edge next to him.

“Bones,” he smiled, because of course it was Bones. Bones, the only person who would be in his room. Bones his…boyfriend. God that was fun to say. “I thought you left already?”

“I did, but I came back to murder you in your sleep.”

Jim cracked an eye open.

“What?”

Bones was glaring down at him, gripping a PADD so hard it looked close to shattering. His jaw was twitching.

“Let’s rewind a little bit,” Jim said cautiously, rubbing a hand across his face. “What’s going on?”

Bones grunted and roughly shoved the PADD at him, apparently so livid he couldn’t remember how to make words work. Jim gave it a once-over before looking back up at Bones.

“Again, what’s the problem here?”

Bones paused for a moment, taking a quick 12 seconds to square his shoulders like he did when he was gearing up for a fight. And Jim winced because Bones happened to be the best fighter he knew, as far as yelling went. He was built to be angry and yeah, usually that made Jim want to do any number of inappropriate things in return, but this was different. This was the first fight they’d had since becoming a “they”.

 “ _What’s the problem?”_ he said. “Are you serious, Jim? You think I’d be okay with this? Really? Honestly?”

Jim sat up in the bed. If Bones really wanted to be a dick about this, fine.

“You’re going. That’s an order from your commanding officer, Bones. A non-negotiable order,” he said, looking Bones straight in the eye because that’s the only way to ever really bring a point home for Bones. Bones had a very old-fashioned idea of bravado. Which meant Jim had a front row seat to the raw look on Bones’ face.

“So it’s a punishment?” he asked, after a pause, mouth tipped down on one side.

“Of course not,” Jim sighed sadly. “This is me making up from my mistakes. I’m trying to make sure that what happened in Medbay last week never happens again.”

The bruises had faded to a splotchy pattern of light brown and yellow, though they were still clearly visible around the collar of Bones’ uniform. They had also stopped resembling the very clear imprint of a hand, like it had been for the majority of the last few days. That still didn’t make them easier for Jim to look at. So that’s why he’d taken Sulu aside after shift yesterday and made him a deal: if he helped Jim run a combat training session with Bones, then Jim would let him use one of the empty science labs for his plants. Sulu had agreed, as Jim knew he would. Captains were responsible for knowing their crews critical pressure points and Sulu’s had been almost embarrassingly easy to trigger. The man loved plants and Jim wasn’t above exploiting the shit out of that, especially when it was ultimately for Bones. Bones looked at him, his gaze broken and steady.

“I’m sorry, Bones,” Jim said, handing back the PADD.  “But you’re going. Think of it as a favor for me.”

Bones met his eyes for another tense second before he turned sharply around, stalking through Jim’s quarters and out the door.

Jim watched him go, before dropping back on to the bed. He knew, when he’d sent out the message yesterday, that there had been zero chance of it ending nicely. He had just hoped Bones would have given him the benefit of the doubt here. Their core dynamic hadn’t changed much since they started officially dating (they’d sign the forms two weeks ago, much to Bones’ embarrassment), other than the fact they had a very different kind of experience when having sleepovers now. The main observable difference was the fact that Bones seemed slightly less annoyed with Jim. Actually, he was probably the same level of annoyed, but now Jim was able to fix it easier. Bones was more willing to let issues go. So why couldn’t do that now? The defense class wasn’t about Bones. How could he not see that? It was about Jim covering his own ass. What happened with the pirate was 18 of Jim’s worst nightmares conveniently packaged and delivered with a blood stained bow on top. Jim almost lost Bones. The _crew_ almost lost Bones. And they couldn’t have that because, whether he liked it or not, Leonard H. McCoy was pretty damn important to this ship, apart from the fact that its captain depended on him. He couldn’t lose Bones, especially since Jim was the only reason he was on the ship now, instead of safe on some starbase half a million light years away.

Jim sighed. He’d give Bones the day to cool off. They didn’t officially have plans that night, but they were Jim and Bones. They always were together in some way, shape, or form because they were “grossly infatuated” with one another, according to Uhura. But no one could really blame them because, come on, they were adorable. Objectively, Jim knew that. They were cute as fuck and he will not apologize for that.

He’d spend tonight alone, keeping away from Bones until tomorrow morning at 0900 when he’d see him in the gym, regardless of how pissed off he still was.

* * *

 

“Bones, are you still angry at me?”

“Bones?”

“Bones, stop. You’re being ridiculous. I’m sitting right next to you; I know you can hear me.”

“And what if I can’t, Jim? Are you going to order me to take a training course for hearing?” McCoy snapped before pointedly turning around again to stretch with his back to Jim.

That was uncalled for, he knew it. But he was still angry enough to not be above good old-fashioned cheap shots. Though, admittedly, he knew that he probably should have come up with one sharper than that. If Jim continued pestering him, he’d have to result to rifling through the list of Jim’s insecurities he kept on mental file.

_“Boneeeeesssssss. Bones. Bones. Bones. Bones. Bones. Bones.”_

“That shirt makes your elbows look even weirder,” McCoy snapped over his shoulder, loud enough he knew Jim could hear him.

Jim’s mouth shut instantly.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Wait, Jim, I didn’t mean that,” McCoy tried to take back his words, turning around again to face Jim.

“You’re angry. I get that.”

But the truth was, McCoy wasn’t angry at Jim.

Well, okay. He was a little bit. But it was more incidental anger than anything. He was angry at how utterly stupid he himself had been. There were a thousand different ways he could have better handled what happened in Medbay last week, ones that hadn’t put Christine and Sulu and the entire ship in jeopardy. He’d had basic hand-to-hand defense classes back at the academy and he’d proven himself more than capable of handling things when he’d gotten in the odd fist fight the past few years. But for some reason his brain had short circuited and lost that instinctual defense and had let him be dragged around by the throat as a hostage. What the admiralty would think, knowing one of their flagship’s senior officers had caused such a monumental, clusterfuck of a situation.

“It…it isn’t you I’m angry at,” McCoy told Jim, holding up his own honesty like a shield.

Another sigh.

“I know, Bones.”

McCoy looked across the space between them on the mat. There was silence again, less strained than before but still not the comfortable kind they usually shared. This was the kind that happens when two people have a lot to say, but can’t quite seem to figure out how to start. He wanted to tell Jim that if anyone had the right to be mad, it was Jim. Jim should be pissed McCoy for putting not only Christine and Sulu in danger, but the professional integrity of the ship as well. So yeah, he deserved this punishment. He brought it on himself. Sometimes he just really didn’t understand Jim. Because Jim wasn’t mad at him. Jim just wanted to help.

“You don’t have weird elbows, Jim,” McCoy finally offered.

“I know that too,” Jim said, though the words were ruined by the hesitant hand he, subconsciously or not, kept running over the back over his left arm. They watched Sulu make his way across the gym to them.

“Sulu,” Jim nodded at him.

“Captain,” Sulu replied, dropping his bag down near them. Jim hopped up and pulled McCoy to his feet. They looked at each other for a moment before Jim smiled, crooked and intimate and McCoy _was not blushing_ and—

“Okay, no.”

They looked back at Sulu.

“ _No_ ,” Sulu repeated, looking between the two of them. “You can’t do… the thing.”

“ _The thing_?” Jim asked.

“The thing! The looking at each other all…sexual thing. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable and I will leave. The lab isn’t worth it.”

McCoy took a step away from Jim pointedly, raising an eyebrow at Sulu.

“Better?”

“Better.”

“Alright,” McCoy nodded. He rubbed his hands together, not looking at Jim. “What’s the plan? Who am I hitting first?”

“Hitting isn’t your problem, Bones,” Jim said, not looking at McCoy. “We’ve seen you in enough brawls to know that. You can handle yourself in a fist fight.”

“That’s basic self-defense,” Sulu added, not looking at either of them. “We’re working on the more advanced levels they teach you in command track.”

“Do I get a gold shirt?”

“You can borrow mine,” Jim winked.

“That’s two. On three I’m honest-to-God going to quit.”

“Okay, okay,” Jim sighed, turning to look at Sulu. He gave him a nod. “Let’s start with something simple.”

McCoy sighed as Sulu walked up behind him.

“Wait what—”

Sulu wrapped his arm around McCoy’s neck, applying the barest amount of pressure on his windpipe.

McCoy tensed immediately.

“Really, Jim?” He said, trying for annoyed indifference.

“Really, Bones,” Jim countered, as Sulu widened his stance.

“So your first lesson is going to be getting me off,” Sulu said.

“Okay, you can’t get mad at us about sexual things and then say _that_.”

“Fair enough: the first lesson is going to be removing an assailant when they have you by the throat. Better?”

“Much.”

“Alright then,” Sulu said. “With this, it’s all about leverage. All you’ve got to do is turn my weight against me.”

“Step one being?” McCoy asked, rolling his shoulders experimentally.

“Twist your hips as much as you can until you can get your left foot behind his right,” Jim instructed.

McCoy did as instructed, Sulu’s arm restricting as he bent forward, just enough to free his hips.

“Left foot behind-”

“His right, got it,” McCoy mumbled, concentrating. He shimmied further, pulling himself, counterintuitively, closer to Sulu—but, with effort, he managed to plant his left foot behind the heel of his right.

“That was the hard part,” Jim told him, bending down to be able to see him, as McCoy was nearly bent double. “Now comes the part where you run the risk of accidentally snapping the Sulu’s arm.”

Oh good,” McCoy yelled, his face pressed against Sulu’s ribs. “I was wondering when it was going to get fun.”

“You are not going to break my arm.”

“You _might_ break his arm.”

“Jim, dammit, I don’t—”

“ _You are not going to break my arm.”_

“Alright,” McCoy finally snapped. “What I am doing?”

“Right hand, Sulu’s right elbow,” Jim said.

“Check.”

“Now use that grip that push yourself out from his hold.”

McCoy gripped Sulu’s elbow before slipped out from his hold.

“As you come up,” Sulu added. “Grab my left wrist while keeping your right on my elbow.”

And just like that, McCoy was free. The pressure was gone from his neck and he breathed in deeply.

“Now run away,” Jim said happily.

McCoy snorted. “Why can’t I just kick the back of his knee and drop him?”

“You could, but you are dead already,” Sulu said, reaching behind his back. He pulled out a phaser and pointed it nonchalantly at McCoy. “I just killed you.”

McCoy put his hands on his hips.

“That’s not fair! I didn’t know you were going to do that.”

“Lesson Two,” Jim said as he hauled Sulu to his feet. “What to do now that you know he’s going to do that.”

* * *

 

_3 hours later_

“I can’t move.”

“I can move but I don’t want to.”

“I’ve been trying to move for the last five minutes. I think my toe twitched.”

Jim lay staring open-mouthed at the ceiling. The mat wasn’t designed for too much comfort, but it still felt like heaven. Sweat still poured from seemingly every part of his body despite the fact that he’d been lying panting on the mats for at least 15 minutes. He could feel Bones and Sulu sprawled out in a similar fashion on either side of them, their breathing finally quieting down. The lieutenant had an arm pressed against his eyes.

“That last fight kicked my ass,” he groaned.

“Agreed,” Bones mumbled. He’d run his hand through his hair at some point, the sweat making it stand up wildly—so drastically unlike Bones’ usual prim and regulated style that Jim had to laugh.

“Bones, you look ridiculous,” he offered as explanation when the other two turned to him at the noise.

“Well so do you.”

“You love it.”

“ _You_ love it.”

“I hate both of you,” Sulu sighed. “You stink and need a shower.”

“And food,” Jim added wistfully. “I think it’s Shepard’s Pie day in the cafeteria.”

Both Sulu and Bones made appreciative noises in the back of their throats.

“But both of those things require movin’ from this spot,” Bones informed him.

“Good point.”

They lapsed back into silence.

After working through lessons 2-15 for an hour, they’d spent the last two in hands-on, practical-approach, sparring matches. Sometimes one on one, other times two on one. They’d finished with an interesting one on one on one fight that had well and truly wiped them all out to the point that they had immediately dropped to the floor once they’d called a draw. Jim knew he’d be sore for a good few days. He touched his tongue gently to the split in the corner of his upper lip. Luckily, that had been their only injury besides the bruises or else Bones would have thrown an absolute fit. Actually, at this point, he would probably be too tired to even string together even a compound cuss word.

“Alright,” Bones groaned suddenly. “That’s it. I’m going to suffer like an adult in bed.”

He rolled over and pushed up from the mat with a wince.

“Leave me here to die,” Jim sighed. “I love you, don’t come into my quarters until you’ve showered.”

“Aye aye, captain,” he parted with a wink towards Jim. “Thanks, Sulu.”

Sulu waved a hand half-heartedly. “Night, Dr. McCoy.”

Jim twisted his neck in order to be to watch Bones make his way across the gym at a slow, gingerly pace. They’d accomplished something here, right? He couldn’t ease the guilt he felt over what happened in Medbay last week (the bruises on Bones made sure of that) but he could try to offer a counter-attack against it. Providing Bones with a better fighting chance against pirates or aliens or whatever the hell they might run into in the future. He’d pushed Bones hard today, but not has hard as Bones seemed to push himself. He was feeling probably even guiltier than Jim was. Jim almost laughed out loud at that. What a pair the two of them made. They both were stuck on blaming themselves. It wasn’t Bones’ fault and Jim knew, logically, he couldn’t be the only one to blame here. But, illogically, his brain and gut wouldn’t let him accept that. He was just egotistical like that. 

“He’s alright.”

Jim turned back to Sulu, surprised to find the lieutenant’s eyes closed.

“I can feel you fretting,” he answered the implied silence.

Jim shifted on the mat with a twitch.

“I don’t fret over anyone on this ship. Mainly because who the hell even uses the word fret?”

“You’re right,” Sulu said.

 “I know,” Jim smirked. “It’s one of those words that only Spock uses just to-”

“You don’t fret over anyone on this ship,” Sulu talked over him. “You fuss over the crew.  You only fret over Dr. McCoy.”

Jim laughed at that.

“Can you blame me?” he added quietly. He pushed up to lean on his elbow so he could look at Sulu. “Bones and I, we…even before we were…what we are…we…”

Sulu cut him off with a smirk and a quick shake of his head.

“I get it, Jim. Trust me, I get it. No need to have a heart-to-heart about it. You ever notice how every conversation people tend to have on this ship seems to end in a heart-to-heart? That bugs me,” Sulu finished with a small frown.

Jim laid his head back down on the mat.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled, struck dumb. “You’re so right.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“You know, that’s the first time I think you’ve ever called me anything but ‘Captain,’” Jim pointed out.

Sulu (Hikaru?) shrugged.

“I think I’m even too tired to be respectful.”

“I was wondering what sparked the honesty,” Jim mused. It was rare to see the man as anything less than the precise, almost uptight, soldier. It wasn’t a bad change, it just came so far out of left field, Jim’s concern was spiked. Was there a problem? An issue? Had working under Jim for 3 years finally been enough to push him to the breaking point? He shifted again on the mat in order to look at his helmsman. “You know, Sulu, you can always be hon-”

Sulu sat up abruptly, shaking his head wildly.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. You’re doing it again,” he yelled, getting to his feet slowly. “Stop trying to have a heart-to-heart with me! What is wrong with this ship?”

Sulu started walking away and Jim tried to jump up after him. He got one leg up before biting off a cry.

“Wait! Sulu, come back. I…I think I’m hurt,” Jim called with a wince.

Sulu whipped back around, his frown replaced with worry.

“Where?”

“In my soul. I think I need to bare it to someone to be sure though.”

Sulu turned back around.

“Have a good day, Captain.”

Jim laughed.


	29. Not Ticklish

**Or, the 4 instances leading up to Jim discovering McCoy’s best kept secret.**

_That time at the academy…_

It was a beautiful day and no one could tell him otherwise.

He hopped lightly onto the curb after a blaring car horn interrupted his walk through the middle of the street.

“Wow, _rude_ ,” Jim yelled at the disgruntled gentleman behind the wheel. Even the obscene hand gesture the guy threw him couldn’t put a scratch on his downright _fantastic_ mood.

He whistled as he continued down the street, headed towards the apartment.

“Ladies,” he grinned at two passing cadets, throwing in a wink because it was Thursday and, really, if any day of the week needed more winks, it was Thursday.

“Jim,” one of them replied, blushing slightly. Her name was…it was…it was something. Of that he was sure.

He took the steps leading up to the door two at a time and then swiped his hand to undo the locks on the side.

“Bones?” he called, twisting around in a light-footed 360 to throw his bag on the couch. “Bones. Bones. Bones. Boooonnnnnnes.”

Distantly, from the back bedrooms, the crypt keeper’s voice called out.

“Suck a dick, Jim!”

So there was that.

Jim, not deterred in the slightest, grabbed an apple off the bowl on the counter before heading back to see what had earned him such a tender-hearted greeting. He stopped as he reached Bones’ open bedroom door.

The good doctor was lying face down on the precisely made bed—honestly, Bones made his bed with more care and concentration than Jim suspected security officers  have when dealing with bomb disposal. He also, sick bastard that he was, always looked like he enjoyed it.

Jim cocked his hip against the doorway, taking a bite of his apple. Nobody did bad moods like Leonard H. McCoy.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

 “By ‘no’ do you mean ‘yes?’”

“By ‘no’ I mean ‘no’, jackass.”

Jim pushed off against the door and came strolling in to plop down beside his roommate on the bed.

“Let’s talk about it.”

Jim took another bite, waiting…waiting…until finally…

“Physical training is killing me, Jim.”

Jim tore his eyes away from his apple to look at the back of Bones’ neck.

“Your combat class? With O’Brien?”

A nod.

“It’s entry level stuff, Bones! It can’t be that bad!”

Bones’ low growl was answer enough.

“You look fine to me,” Jim replied, eyeing the man up and down, just to check. He looked cranky and concentrated. As per usual.

“We did mid-section work today. I got paired with some massive kid studying cartography,” Bones told him, as if that was the answer for everything.

“Annnnd?” Jim prompted.

“And he was all elbows. M’ side’s all busted up,” Bones shifted on the bed with a hiss, just to make a point. “I think my ribs are bruised. Or broken. Or ripped.”

 “You can’t rip a rib,” Jim said with a frown, cocking an eyebrow even though Bones couldn’t see it. “Where did you get your medical degree again?”

“Somewhere where they forgot to teach us about rippin’ ribs because I’m pretty sure that’s what that damn kid did to me,” Bones groaned. “They may have punctured the skin. I could be bleeding out. Quick, you aren’t lyin’ in a pool of my blood are ya?”

“Oh my God, you’re fine,” Jim whined, exasperated at how determinedly mood-killing his best friend was. He sat up in the bed. “There is no blood anywhere, see? I’ll show you.”

 With the hand not cradling his apple, he reached over, intending to yank up the back of Bones’ shirt. He did nothing more than grab the end of the fabric before Bones jerked wildly in the bed, pushing out and away from him so quickly, it took Jim a few seconds to process that he himself was no longer on the bed at all. He glanced down at the carpet he found himself sitting on before looking up at Bones. The man was looking like he was trying to make his explosive outburst seem casual. Jim shook his head.

“What the hell was-”

“Nothing,” Bones snapped. “It’s just—I got it.”

He pulled at the hem of his shirt, raising it up to his chest with a wince.

“Holy fuck,” Jim muttered. All along the side of Bones’ torso were misshaped bruises in random bursts formed, apparently, from the skilled hands of a cartographer. Which made all the difference. “Those are from _today_? I thought you were just whining!”

Bones made a face.

“I don’t whine!” was his token protest as he pulled his shirt down. “And I told you, that class is going to kill me.”

Jim shook his head.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Your flight simulation class probably will, though. That shit _is bananas_.”

He ducked the thrown pillow while still managing to hold on to his apple.

“Wrap up your ribs and let’s go get some food. I’m starving,” Jim said through a mouthful of apple.

Bones, already sinking back down to the sheets, snorted.

“I ain’t movin’ from this bed until my shift tomorrow afternoon.”

Jim paused for a moment.

“Take-out?” he tried.

“Perfect,” Bones sighed. “And ice. Bring me so much ice.”

“Fine, but you’re buying because you pushed me off the bed and told me to suck a dick.”

“Whatever. Just don’t go to that Thai place on 25th.”

“Why?” Jim asked. Bones loved that place—he had a weirdly intimate relationship with their Massaman Curry. They ate there at minimum once a week.

“Because I saw your prostitute friend from Mike’s hanging out across the street from it last week. Wouldn’t want things to be awkward for ya,” the smirk was coming, Jim could just feel it. “Unrequited love is a bitch, Jim.”

“Suck a dick, Bones.”

* * *

 

_That time at the bar…_

 

Jim shoved firmly against the edge of the counter.

“I’m drunk,” he announced with a resolute nod.

“Mmmhmm,” Bones grunted beside him. “Disgracefully so.”

“You’re drunk?” Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. Bones looked up from his glass with an entirely impatient sigh.

“Jim, I’ve been drinking soda since we got here. _Three hours ago_ ,” he added bitterly. “Can we go home now?”

“But we just got here!” Jim whined. “We haven’t even had a chance to have fun.”

“If I wanted to have fun, we’d all have a merry Christmas,” Bones said as he pushed himself off of the stool.

Jim frowned.

“Bones, you sure you aren’t drunk? That metaphor wasn’t even consistent.”

“I’m sure,” Bones told him. “Now let’s go. Can you walk?”

Begrudgingly, Jim stumbled off his own seat and very fluently lied.

“Yes, I can.”

He stood perfectly still.

Bones rolled his eyes.

“I don’t like you very much right now,” Bones grumbled under his breath, apparently not concerned Jim has stopped listening. He reached over and grabbed the arm Jim had been using to lean supportively against the counter, using his grip on the bicep in order to steer Jim towards the exit.

“Bye, Mike!” Jim yelled out, with a cheerful wave towards the counter. The older man waved back with a smile.

“I like Mike,” Jim told Bones as the reached outside.

“Mmmm,” Bones sounded in the back of his throat. He pulled Jim closer to his side as they reached the uneven sidewalk. “I’d like him more if he had cut you off after the first couple hours.”

“But I like Mike,” Jim protested.

Bones sighed.

“I know you do, kid.”

Somehow, they managed to walk back. Don’t ask Jim how, but they did. They reached the stairs to their apartment, making it halfway up before Jim’s foot slipped on the concrete and he lurched forward. Bones gripped his arm tighter.

“Y’alright?” he asked, concerned.

Jim nodded.

“Just a little fuzzy,” he assured him. He tried the step again, with the same results. “I just can’t…seem to…”

With Bones still hanging on to him, Jim had a sudden idea. The doctor was watching him, his raised eyebrow speaking volumes, as Jim gently removed his hand from his arm.

“You…you ever been in a three-legged race, Bones?”

“No?”

“It’s fun. We’d be awesome,” Jim told him stoutly. He pulled himself firmly against Bones’ side, grabbing the other man’s arm and pulling it over his own shoulders; in return, Jim began to slide his arm around Bones’ lower back.

Just as he was about to rejoice at the solution he managed to find, he felt Bones’ back stiffen aggressively under his arms. With a quick, blink-of-an eye shuffle, Bones had pulled completely away from Jim, standing a good foot away and putting his hands firmly around both of Jim’s wrists.

“Don’t,” he snapped.

“Don’t _what_?”

“Just don’t!” Bones practically yelled as he threw up his hands. He marched the rest of the way up the stairs leaving Jim stuck swaying in the middle.

“Bones—?” Jim called weakly after him.

Jim slowly sat down on the stairs, careful not to puke. If he puked now, Bones wouldn’t let the puke just sit there, so he’d make Jim clean it up and that would be _gross, Bones. God, you suck!_  For a second he considered just trying to sleep there, to just lie back and think of the Federation, instead of making the rest of the journey into the apartment. But has he went to set his head back against the steps, Bones’ voice shook him awake.

“If you aren’t up here in five minutes, I’m calling the cops.”

Jim frowned.

“What would be your complaint?” he yelled back. He’s almost tempted to do it, to ignore Bones’ warning, just to see what would happen.

“That I have a goddamn menace to society on my porch and I’m embarrassed for the neighbors to see me with him!”

“They…they wouldn’t arrest me for that,” Jim said, but it came out like a question.

“Oh we’ll see!” Bones snapped, new dimensions of sarcasm and anger in the words.

Jim flailed his legs with a pout.

“I need helllllllp,” he whined.

“Well that fucking sucks because you ain’t gettin’ it.”

“Stop being so southern. Just come help pull me to my feet.”

A pause.

Then slowly the door creaked open. Jim tilted his head back to see Bones pop his head out, the anger smoothing from his face with a low, tight sigh.

“I thought you left me here to die,” Jim said quietly, stuck for anything else to say.

Bones squinted at him.

“I removed myself from the situation before I strangled you,” he said.

“Did I do something wrong, Bonesy?” Jim asked, after a long, confused moment thinking over the words. “Besides the whole drinking thing.”

“First of all, don’t call me that. _Ever_ ,” Bones growled, desperate and defensive as he took a step out onto the porch. “You are very annoying.”

He walked down the steps towards Jim, cautiously. Like Jim was a wounded animal and he was…a thing. An angry, snarling, eyebrowed thing.

He came to rest looking down at Jim, his singular raised eyebrow filling out the _angry old man kicking kids off his porch_ thing he had going on. But his eyes still looked too wide. Weird.

“Weird,” Jim said aloud.

“What?”

“Why are you scared of me?” Jim asked, glaring up at him. “Do you think I’m scary?”

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“That’s because you’re gnarled little heart has forgotten what love is.”

Bones gave a very aggressive noise in the back of his throat before reaching down and yanking Jim up to his feet. He made sure Jim was standing on his own feet half-ass securely before pointing a finger at him.

“Keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t make any sudden moves. And don’t call me Bonesy.”

Jim saluted him.

“Yes, Captain McCoy. Warp available at your command, sir!”

Bones huffed, a lingering suspicion on his face. But the wry smirk had returned.

“That makes you my yeoman,” he said, helping Jim up the stairs. He kept him at arm’s length.

“I’m pretty enough for that,” Jim said, more to himself than anything. “Right, Bonesy?

Bones pushed him through the door.

“Yeah, Jim. You’re pretty enough for that.”

Jim beamed.

 

* * *

 

_That one time with Sulu…_

“Lesson four,” Jim said evenly, placing his hands on both of Bones’ shoulders. “Getting out from a pin.”

“Wait, what-”

Jim smirked before kicking the back of Bones’ knee, sending him crashing to the mat with a loud grunt—he felt justified in his actions on account of Bones having done the exact same thing to him not 10 minutes early. _Collateral damage, McCoy._

“Ow!”

“You’re a baby,” Jim chided, dropping to his knees beside the doctor.

“ _You’re_ a baby.”

“That’s exactly what a baby would say.”

“Real mature, both of you,” Sulu added, watching the two of them from his spot a few feet away on the mat. “Anyways, lesson four.”

Jim nodded.

“Right. Lesson four,” he agreed, putting his hands on the back of Bones’ shoulders. “I’m going to pin you to the ground and you need to get out of it.”

“How?” Bones asked. His face was pressed firmly to the mat as he shifted under the pressure of Jim’s hands.

“You tell me,” Jim said.

Bones twisted in every direction, trying to squirm out from under Jim’s hands, but failing. Jim pressed harder, causing Bones to grunt again in frustration.

“Come on, Bones, you got this.”

“I can’t fight back with my arms pinned, Jim!” came the muffled response.

“Yes you can,” Jim replied calmly. “You aren’t even using your lower half.”

He let one of Bones’ shoulders, still keeping him to the ground.

“See? Use these muscles here,” he put his hand on Bones’ lower back, right where his shirt ended.

Bones, who had stopped his struggling when Jim had been explaining, suddenly jerked to the side with a yell loud enough to echo around the entire gym.

Jim immediately took his hands off the doctor as Sulu rushed forward to see what was wrong.

“Bones?” Jim asked, leaning down to try to see his face.  “Are you okay?”

Bones, twisted a few feet away from Jim, looked up. He seemed surprised.

“Uh, yeah,” he stuttered. “I’m fine. Let’s try again.”

As Bones shuffled back over towards him, Jim shared a look with Sulu.

After another pause, they both just shrugged.

 “Alright, let’s go.”

* * *

 

_Most importantly, that time in Medbay…_

“Dr. McCoy’s in the back storage room.”

Jim whipped around, his feet barely through the Medbay doors. Christine was resetting one of the biobeds beside the door.

Jim folded his arms.

“What makes you think I’m looking for anyone? Maybe I’m here to see how things are going.”

Chapel looked up at him, smiling an amused, if not exasperated, smirk. “You’re always looking for him.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“Storage room?”

She nodded.

“Have a good day, Christine,” he told her, taking off towards the back of Medbay.

Even if Christine hadn’t told him, it probably wouldn’t have taken long for Jim to find Bones. All he would have had to do was follow the sound of threats and curses that lead him straight to the foul-mouthed, irascibly southern source.

“I’m a goddamn Doctor, I don’t have time for this! I have a degree. _I have accolades.”_

Jim rounded the corner the separated the storage room from the rest of Medbay, quite excited to see if Bones looked as disgruntled as he sounded.

“Hey, Bones, are you— _what the hell happened in here_?”

Bones was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes, crates, and discarded packaging materials on all sides. Like the lone survivor lost on the battlefield. He looked up with a righteous scowl at Jim’s voice.

“I’m busy, Jim,” he growled, putting his hand deep into another half empty container. He looked half out of his mind.

“I see that,” Jim said, trying to tip-toe around all the supplies spread out on the ground to get further in the room. “What’s up? I thought we had another week before the tri-monthly existential crisis. I haven’t cleared my schedule.”

Bones, goddamn pro that he was, ignored the bait.

“Ensign Zihalye,” he said instead.

“What?”

Bones looked up at him, releasing the full-force of his manic eyebrows.

“Ensign Zihalye. Works in research? The Coridanite?” he snapped.

“Yeah, yeah, I know her,” Jim frowned at him. “How does that _explain_ _anything_?”

Bones picked up another box full of supplies and brought it onto his lap.

“She’s got a rare, endo-venting obstruction,” he rooted around, shoulder deep in the crate. “She needs an injection every so often to keep healthy and I can’t find it.”

At that, Jim raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t _find it_? How do you even lose something like that? What are we going to do? Is she going to be okay? Shouldn’t you be calling someone?”

Bones sighed as he pushed the box back behind him.

“Take it easy, Captain Kirk,” he grumbled, grabbing a cylindrical carrying case to his left. “She’s fine for another two months. We were just doing inventory earlier and it got lost somewhere in all of this.”

He gestured agitatedly at the chaos he was surrounded by.

“What’s it look like?” Jim asked, looking around the room.

“’Bout three inches tall, one inch wide. A clear bottle with bright purple liquid in it. It’s got-”

“Like this?”

Bones’ head snapped up to examine the bottle in Jim’s hand.

“Are kidding me? Where the hell did you get that?”

“I found it. Right here,” Jim shrugged, pointing to the empty counter space next to the door.

Bones rubbed at the back of his neck as he let his head fall forward. A pretty picture of despair.

“Of course you found it .5 seconds after walking in here,” he muttered, trying to free himself from the mess. “Fuck you and your good luck.”

Jim smirked as he set the bottle down.

“What can I say, the skills come with the job title,” he said, reaching a hand down.

Bones continued to grumble, half-heartedly, and allowed Jim to pull him to his feet. Jim looked down at him, breaking out into a sudden laugh. Dust and dirt had settled thick on Bones’ clothes.

“Bones, you’re filthy. I thought you kept this place a little cleaner than that?”

 “You try rootin’ through half a dozen old storage bins. See how clean you come out.”

Jim watched him swipe down the front and sides of his uniform.

“Here, let me. You completely missed it.”

He reached a hand casually to wipe off the dust that had stuck to the bottom of the blue shirt.

Bones jerked away with a loud, terrifying yelp, causing Jim to instinctively jump the opposite direction, raising his hands.

“Bones, what the hell?” he shouted.

Bones immediately looked defensive.

“Nothing! I just…it was nothing!”

Jim shook his head.

“Not working, Bones. Seriously. What’s the deal? You reacted the same way last week when we were training with Sulu,” Jim pointed out, bringing up something that had been bothering him the last few days. “I figured you had bruises you were hiding from the pirate attack or something.”

Bones slid his weight from foot to foot, looking like he was cataloging exits.

Jim frowned.

“Is that it? Are you still-”

That caused Bones to look over at him.

“No, Jim. I’m fine,” he said.

“Okkkkaaaaaay,” Jim drew out the word. “Then what?”

Bones sighed before jumping up to sit on the nearest closed crate. Jim made to follow him before Bones threw up a hand.

“Uh-uh, you stay there,” he warned.

Jim took a surprised step back.

“Uh…Why?”

“Because I’m going to tell you something and, knowin’ you, I know _exactly_ what you are goin’ to do the moment I say it.”

Jim couldn’t really be held accountable to what he hypothetically might do, but stayed where he was.

“Alright,” he agreed.

Bones looked from him to the open door, a nervous twist to his mouth.

“Okay, so this really, really, really embarrassin’. I’ve never told anybody before, I always just-”

“Oh my God, you have a tattoo there? Oh my God, oh my God! That’s it! ” Jim interrupted, his mind already spinning into creative overdrive. Bones _would_ have a secret tattoo, the reluctant rebel that Jim knew him to be. But what of? Something sciencey? Something poetically sentimental?

“No, you idiot, I don’t have a secret tattoo!” Bones grunted, crossing his arms. “I’m just ticklish there.”

“Damn that would’ve been so fucking cool,” Jim sighed, then shook his head as he backtracked. “Wait, what?”

  “That spot, on my back,” Bones explained quietly, glancing at the door again. “It’s… _sensitive_.”

Jim took in Bones’ serious, borderline panicked face for a full 6 seconds of silence before absolutely _losing his shit_ and breaking out into laughter.

“It’s not funny, Jim! It’s embarrassing. I’m a grown ass man!”

“Yeah you are,” Jim agreed, laughing even harder.

“Stop laughing!” Bones growled.

Jim leaned a hand on another crate before wiping at his eyes, letting the laughter die out.

“I’m not laughing at that, Bones,” he assured, chuckling lightly. “I’m laughing at the fact that you thought that it was _serious_ enoughto hide. Everyone is ticklish!”

He watched Bones’ face pull into a deep frown, like Jim was speaking Romulan, sparking Jim to renew his hysterical laughter.

“Oh my God, your face,” he manage to choke out. “Look how worried you are. Bones, man. Come on!”

As Jim continued to laugh until he needed to rest his weight fully on the crate, he could see Bones’ own smile slowly working its way to light. Eventually, even that turned into a grin so wide, it would hurt his reputation as a cantankerous asshole if anyone ever saw it. Luckily, the only other person in Medbay was Christine and she was busy working on the-

“Do I even want to know what is going on in here?”

Jim and Bones both looked up at the door where, in a shockingly unshocking turn of events, Christine was standing, looking at them with an eyebrow raised.

Jim grinned while Bones panicked.

“Christine, oh my God,” Jim said, still leaning on the crate. “You _are not going to believe_ what Bones just told me-”

Bones leaned forward on his crate, closer to Jim.

“Jim, I swear to all that is holy, if you tell her, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Jim laughed. “You’re forgetting you just told me your mortal weakness. Your deep, dark, _heinous_ secret. You have no power over me anymore!”

He turned to Christine.

“Anyways, we were sitting here, sorting through this stuff, and all of a sudden-”

“JIM!”

“-he tells me he’s got this really embarrassing secret, and he’s obviously super cut up about it, because he looked like his little anxious heart was going into over-”

Bones hopped off his crate before charging at Jim. Jim, with reflexes honed by an exciting captaincy, took off running out the door, yelling loudly as he did so. Bones followed closely, just outside of reach.

“Ticklish, Christine! He’s ticklish! He told me he was _sensitive_.”

“I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS.”

The distinct sound of two bodies hitting the floor reached Christine’s ears, along with swear words that she had never actually heard before and cries for help.

She very calmly walked into the supply room, closing the door tightly behind her.


	30. Not a Good Luck Charm

Jim loved game nights.

It was a big ship full of people with spotty sleep schedules; no matter what day or time or location of the game, people tended to wander in. Scotty was good, but only when he was the right level of drunk where he wasn’t technically drunk but he wasn’t technically sober and there was such a delicate balance to that that he rarely was a threat. Chapel was probably the best and had a list of favors from all of them that she’d collected in her winnings over the years. Sulu was getting better each game they played, though still not good enough to actually cause Jim to worry. Chekov was terrible, Bones was capital T Terrible, and Spock would be just as bad but he always played on a team with Uhura and together they were insanely good. It was unfair.

Jim entered in the code to his quarters and was completely undeterred by the lights being off.

“Bones,” he says, hopping as he tore off one of his boots. “Are you sleeping?”

It was more of a conversation starter than a question. Bones was tucked in on his side of the bed and there was no way that he hadn’t woken up the second the door had slid open. Bones was a doctor (dammit). He had doctors’ instincts even outside of Medbay and was never able to sleep deeply. He could be up and ready to save a life in a half a second. That didn’t mean he was happy about it. Jim got a half-hearted groan in response.

“Get up, we got a game night,” Jim pressed on. He swapped his shirt for one of Bones’ ratty Ole Miss sweatshirts draped over the desk. “I promised Chekov because he did that thing where he looked at me and I couldn’t help it.”

Bones pulled the blanket up higher and groaned again. Jim smiled as he finished tying his sweats. He dropped down on the bed.

“Bonnnneeessss,” he said, pulling the blanket down. “Come on.”

Bones squinted up at him. The face of complete apathy. “No.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I promised Chekov?”

“Exactly,” Bones sighed, still keeping his eyes closed. Like he was simply too tired to deal with Jim appropriately. “You promised the kid. I did nothing of the sort. I’m going back to sleep now.”

Jim paused. He hadn’t planned on this. If there was one thing Jim was reasonably confident about, it was the fact that Bones was always going to say yes. He said yes to sitting next to Jim on the shuttle to Starfleet; yes to the Kobayashi Maru, once, twice, three times; yes to being his CMO; yes to being more than just friends. Yes to everything.

Except, apparently, this particular game night.

“But….game night,” he said again. “You’ve never missed a game night.”

“I’m tired, Jim,” Bones sighed. “And it’s not like I’m going to be missed.”

Well that was only partly true. Bones was an absolutely shit poker player. His eyes were too honesty. Actually all of him was too honest. It was one of the things Jim loved best about him. He was fun to have around the games, though. For someone who tried to convince the world he was a boring old country doctor, Bones actually had the craziest drinking stories to tell. And winning was only ever fun when Bones was around.

“I’ll miss you,” Jim said.

Bones smiled lazily.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” he said. “Don’t let Chapel win. She’ll be insufferable.”

“I make no promises,” Jim said truthfully. He ran his hand through Bones’ hair as he stood up. He looked down, making one last ditch effort. “Are you positive you don’t want to come?”

Bones just pulled the blanket back up over his shoulder. Jim sighed and headed for the door.

He really didn’t know what to do with himself.

A game night...without Bones? Fun…without Bones? It was ridiculous. But he _had_ promised Chekov. If the poor kid wanted to lose that badly, then who was Jim to deny him? It wasn’t that Jim was insanely good at poker at pretty much any game this side of the Laurentian system, it was just that he had yet to see evidence to the contrary. He was a talented man. It was just his curse to bare, perhaps. That didn’t change whether Bones was with him or not. And it wasn’t like they were one of those couples who had to do everything together. They just preferred to. Jim was his own man. His own, talented man.

He walked through the doors of the rec room.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he said, flipping the chair across from Chapel around so he could sit on it backwards. He took the glass that Scotty offered him.

“No McCoy?” he asked.

“Bones is, wait for it, asleep,” Jim said with disgust. “Can you believe that?”

“If I had to share a bed with you, I’d probably ending up pretending to be asleep a lot too,” Uhura offered, passing out the cards.

Jim gasped quietly.

Sulu laughed.

Uhura shrugged.

The night, believe it or not, actually got worse from there.

And hour later and Jim was staring down at his cards, trying to keep is face as impassive as possible to hide the fact that it was (quite possibly) the worst hand in existence. He was a better liar than Bones by far, but there was only so much he had to work with.  Sulu was eyeing him like he knew it, but Jim remained looking at his cards. He pushed up the sleeves of Bones’ sweatshirt. Sulu sighed.

“Jim has a shit hand,” he said impassively, almost as if he were commenting on the weather rather than Jim’s masculinity.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Jim threw up his arms. He’d lost every single game they’d played that night. He was down thirty bucks and was damn near ready to give up.  Across the table, Scotty smiled.

“Maybe we should stop inviting McCoy to the game,” he said, rearranging his cards.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jim folded his arms. Chapel smiled, patting Jim’ arm lightly.

“Easy, Jim,” she laughed. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

_“Like what?”_

“Like however you’re taking it,” she said. “He just means that it’s nice to see you lose.”

“What does _that_ mean?” he repeated. He looked around at the others. Uhura set her cards down, rolling her eyes like she was talking to a very dim child.

“You lost your good luck charm,” she said. “When Leonard is playing with us, you never lose. He’s gone and all of a sudden you’re a worse player than Pavel.”

Chekov nodded and Jim folded his arms.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m entitled to an off night without it being a Bones issue.”

Scotty snorted. “It’s always a McCoy issue. Think about it: every mission you go on that he doesn’t, ends in a right mess.”

“That’s a skewed statistic, though,” Sulu added. “A lot of missions he does go end equally bad.”

“But they don’t end bad for _Jim_ ,” Uhura said. “They end bad for other people.”

“I don’t like this,” Jim said suddenly. “I’m not having fun.”

“Because Leonard isn’t here?” Chapel laughed.

“Face it, Jim,” Scotty said. “McCoy is your good luck charm. It’s weird.”

“And sweet,” Chapel said.

“And irrelevant to our game,” Sulu finished. “Can we move on? Are you going to fold already, Captain?”

“I feel like I need to self-reflect,” Jim said.

“Fold first, then introspect,” Sulu said.

Jim threw down his cards.

“I’m out.”

* * *

 

Jim didn’t sleep much that night.

He didn’t even know where to begin, besides his gut reaction to ignore the whole thing. He didn’t like being analyzed by his crew, especially not on game night and especially not when it was about Bones. It wasn’t that Bones was a sensitive subject, it was just that he was the subject that mattered most to Jim. It was completely different.

He was also the subject that scared Jim the most. Scotty and Chapel and the others labeling Bones as Jim’s good luck charm was a simple way of putting it. A tangible way. Jim already had a million and one theoretical notions of how much Bones meant to him and giving one of those a name made them feel more real. You could lose real things, you could have real things taken away from you, and real things could hurt you. His relationship with Bones, despite being years overdue, was still technically new. It still didn’t feel real and he didn’t want to spoil that. Bones wasn’t a good luck charm. Bones was everything.

“You’re thinking so loud, I can’t sleep.”

Jim tilted his head to look at Bones and smiled softly.

“Sorry.”

Bones raised an eyebrow. “Anything important?”

“No, I just,” he said, then paused. He looked back up at the ceiling. “I just don’t want you to come planetside with us tomorrow.”

Bones sat up at that.

“You’ve been on my ass about going for weeks, Jim.”

“And now I’ve changed my mind, _Leonard_.”

“Why?”

“I’m working on a theory.”

_“What?”_

Jim sat up now too, holding his pillow in his lap in some semblance of protection.

“It’s nothing. Probably. Just…don’t come with us. After the mission, I’ll explain. I promise.”

He looked across the bed at Bones, trying to convey how much he really didn’t want to be having this conversation. He just wanted Bones to accept it and go back to sleep. Instead, Bones snorted.

“I’m honestly insulted you think I’m going to accept that.”

It had been worth a shot. He again had to look away from Bones. It was easy to say stupid things when he didn’t have to look Bones in the face.

“It’s really, really, really ridiculous.”

“I assumed as much,” Bones said, but gently. Gentle insulting was Bones’ go-to form of comfort.

“So at game night,” Jim started. Then sighed heavily. “The crew implied that I can only do well at things when you are there. That you’re my good luck charm…………………… or whatever.”

He looked at Bones. Who was looking at him. 40 solid seconds of silence passed while Bones looked as if he was contemplating every moment of his life that had led up to this moment, in this bed, looking at Jim. He did it often enough that Jim wasn’t too worried. Finally Bones just frowned.

“Well, yeah,” he said.

“ _Well yeah_ what?”

“Well yeah I’m your good luck charm,” Bones said simply. “That’s how it’s always been.”

Jim had to lie down again. “How it’s always been?”

“Yeah,” Bones shrugged. “That’s my job. At the academy, on this ship. I go with you and make sure you don’t do stupid shit. You take less risks, you’re more cautious. It’s nothing to do with luck and everything to do with being a good influence.”

“ _A good influence_?”

Bones raised an eyebrow.

“First of all, I’m the best damn influence you’ve ever had so you can stop sounding so surprised,” he growled. “Second of all, yeah. A good influence.”

“But they were talking about poker and game night and shit like that. Your influence has nothing to do with that.”

“Yes it does. You win at games when I’m with you because you’re a show off. You go out of your way to win when I’m there because apparently it’s 1867 and you are trying to _woo me_.”

“That’s not true?”

But even Jim didn’t believe it.

“It’s very cute,” Bones assured him. “But very annoying.”

“I don’t even know how to process this.”

“Can we process it in the morning?” Bones sighed.

“I mean, I guess,” Jim said. “I just…I don’t like that.”

Bones rolled over and pulled the blanket back up.

“You don’t have to like it. I love it and that’s all that matters.”

Jim smiled.

“Alright.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter as an apology for being gone for so long! Glad you all stuck with me. More chapters are coming.


	31. Not Leonard

It started with a warning.

_“I may throw up on you.”_

It ended with an apology as Jim threw his sneakers in the trash.

_“Sorry I ruined your shoes, kid.”_

And Jim had no idea what to make of any of it. The man was filthy, aggressively sarcastic, and throwing back shots at every sign of turbulence. But he also had the softest brown eyes and the most soothing southern drawl Jim had ever heard. Probably; it definitely had the potential to be soothing. So far, all he’d done is growl and yell and make vague threats. But Jim could tell there was some level of comfort, of compassion, hidden somewhere deep down. He was forever the optimist. He could hear the man grumbling behind him as they made their way off the shuttle. Nothing specific, from what he could gather. Just a sort of general bitching. Jim would bet that he didn’t even know he was doing it.

Jim’s bare feet already felt raw from the unforgiving metal pattern on the floor as they shuffled forward. It wasn’t like he had anything to replace them with. That’s the thing about last minute, dramatic exits. They didn’t really leave you time to pack a bag. All he had was the blood-stained clothes he was wearing (sans aforementioned vomit-covered socks and shoes), his comm, wallet, and a black eye. On the plus side, statistically speaking, his lack of possessions would make moving into the dorms about 98% easier, give or take.

He made sure to duck as he went through the door this time, squinting into the sun spilling onto the shuttle steps. He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He’d never been to San Francisco before. Never of his own volition, anyways. Of course he’d been dragged there for countless Kelvin memorials when he was younger. But being here by his own conscious choosing was definitely new. If he was more sentimental, he might say it was exciting. Instead he decides it’s promising.  

“Jesus Christ, kid. Are you going to stand there all day?”

He opened his eyes. He’d almost forgotten about mister tall, dark, and hostile. Jim squints back at him and doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he supplies his own.

“What should I call you?”

The man raised his eyebrows in a way too cartoonish to be real. Real people didn’t do that. But Jim had a hard time believing this man was real. He held himself so awkwardly, standing on the steps of the shuttle. Like he felt uncomfortable just being who he was. And he somehow looked surprised, tensed, and slightly green, all at once. Jim wondered if he was getting ready to puke again and for some reason that made him want to laugh. It’d been a weird day.

“What do you mean?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing in distrust. He pulled his arms against his sides, like he half expected Jim to attack him. Where the hell was this guy even from?

 Jim snorted.

“Like a name? A thing I can use to replace the vague pronouns when speaking to or about you?”

“I told you my name.”

“Yeah, I don’t like.”

The man went from suspicious to…faintly amused. Very faintly. Like, blink-and-you-miss-it amused before switching to a strong defense.

“You don’t like it?”

Jim finished walking down the steps. “Nah. To be honest, it’s…heavy. It’ll take too long to say. What about Leo?”

“ _No.”_

“Yeah, I don’t like that either,” Jim agreed. “Len?”

The other man walked away.

“Wait!” Jim called after him. The man turned back, looking up from his comm. “Where are you going?”

He rolled his eyes before stalking back to Jim.

“I was thinking of going to find some peace and quiet for five fucking minutes before I have to start my new life in a place I’ve never been, with people I don’t know. Then I was going to go register for classes that I don’t need, find out what 18-year-old I’m going to be forced to share a dorm with, then I was hoping to find a hospital or clinic or fucking shanty town that needs a doctor so that maybe, just maybe, I can do some good in the goddamn world. Does that sound alright with you, kid?”

Jim opens his mouth. Then closes it.

“Sure,” he finally says, truly stumped.

“Fantastic,” the man turned and walked towards the campus. Jim yelled after him.

“Can I least get your number? You do owe me shoes, you know.”

The man didn’t even look up.

“Sorry,” he said, looking at his comm. “I don’t own a communicator.”

Jim glared.

“You’re an asshole, McCoy,” he yelled.

Only that didn’t sound right either. Jim watched him walk away, half wanting to go after him. They’d both stuck out on the shuttle and Jim was weirdly endeared to him and couldn’t shake the feeling that they needed to stay together in order to maximize their potential of making it out of this place alive. Then again, the man was afraid of space, darkness, and basic human interactions. Smart money was on him dropping out after a week, two tops. Or strangling someone. Either one, really.

Then again, even smarter money was on Jim crashing and burning before McCoy even got the chance to. He’d probably seen McCoy on a bad day, which could account for the fact that he’d been falling apart at the seams. And McCoy probably thought he’d seen Jim on a bad day too. The truth was, beat up, hungover, and wary was Jim’s good day. He had a track record of fucking up and leaving a trail of shitty impressions everywhere he’d ever gone. Best let McCoy stay out of it. The guy seemed to already have gotten his share of damage, he didn’t need Jim’s.

So he let him go and headed the opposite direction.

* * *

 

The next time Jim saw him, it was only 3 days later. But Starfleet 3 days were completely different from normal, human 3 days. They didn’t follow the linear progression of time, for one. From the moment Jim had left McCoy, Starfleet took over his life. He was rushed into registrations and orientations, uniform fittings and forced small talk. Pike ushered him up to faculty member after faculty member, as if they didn’t already know him. It was almost like Pike didn’t trust Jim on his own. A fair assumption, as Jim didn’t even trust Jim on his own. He’d gotten “moved in” to his dorm room. He’d had a roommate. He hated him immediately and never even bothered to learn his name. It was frankly embarrassing how little time it took him to get the roommate reassigned. If he wasn’t so set for the command track, he might have considered taking up computer science as a favor to Starfleet. They apparently had no one decent in all of the federation.

McCoy had met his eye as he walked up the aisle of the lecture hall. Jim, seated as far back as he could get, did a double take over his coffee.

McCoy was...human.

Huh. He’d shaved and showered and had a regulation haircut that made him seem somehow both older and younger. He still held himself in acute defensiveness, but it’d lost the desperate edge he’d clung to on the shuttle. Jim liked this McCoy. He was promising, though he still wasn’t sold on calling him McCoy. It was too formal, too military. He may as just give up and call him Leonard if he was going to go with something so boring.

McCoy was ten feet away when he saw Jim. He stopped in the middle of the aisle and closed his eyes.

“Oh sweet Jesus.”

Jim waved.

McCoy sighed, deep and grim, all the way up to Jim’s row. Jim dragged his bag out of the seat next to him, gesturing McCoy towards it.

“Please don’t throw up on me again.”

Jim watched McCoy think about it for 15 seconds, his eyes tracking the other available seating in the lecture hall, before he gave up. He squeezed past Jim, with a very put upon frown.

“I make no promises,” he said, pulling out a PADD. He looked Jim up and down very unsubtly before raising an eyebrow. “You look less pathetic.”

Jim snorted. “And you look less suicidal. So.”

McCoy looked for a moment like he might laugh. Instead, he looked around as the hall filled up around them. The entire class of first year cadets were in the rows for the one and only class required of all of them, regardless of track. It was designed to take them through Starfleet’s history, from first contact to now. Jim would be excited, if the professor didn’t look like he’d lived his entire life in this room, behind that desk. He turned to McCoy.

“Leon?”

McCoy’s face twisted in confusion for half a second before he rolled his eyes.

“No.”

“Lenny?”

“Fuck no,” he scowled. Jim was starting to see how natural aggressive facial features seem to be to him. Interesting. He’d never seen a person’s defensive shields be so manifest. He’d also never been so amused by them either.

“It was worth a shot,” he smiled. “So have you murdered your roommate yet?”

Non-sequiturs happened to A) a classic interrogation tactic designed to throw targets off guard and B) Jim’s specialty. But if McCoy was thrown by it at all, he didn’t show it. He only sighed, either at Jim or his roommate.

“Would you believe I actually like him?” he asked.

“No?”

“Good, because I’d lying,” McCoy said. “His name is _Jeremy_ and that’s all you need to know to understand his personality.”

Jim winced.

“I have a medical license,” McCoy continued. “I have awards. I have bright goddamn career ahead of me and I have to share a room with a child.”

“Uh,” Jim said, not really sure if he was needed to respond. “That’s rough.”

McCoy nodded absently. “Yeah.”

“What does he call you?”

“I make him call me Dr. Leonard McCoy, MD, Ph.D. at all times. It asserts dominance.”

Jim’s laughter surprised him, though not as much as the wry smile McCoy cracked.

“So you’re saying that’s what I should call you?”

“That would imply I want you to call me at all.” 

Jim huffed, folding his arms. “Touché.”

He waited in silence for three whole minutes, waiting until the professor took his spot behind the podium. As the rest of the cadets pulled out PADDS and quieted down, he leaned over to McCoy deliberately.

“Do you want to get lunch after this?”

McCoy turned to face him, slowly, with deliberation. He looked torn between annoyance and surprise. “No. Are you stupid or just truly that annoying?”

Jim shrugged.

McCoy stared at him a few more minutes before turning back to the front of the class.

They didn’t speak the rest of the class. Though, as they got up to leave Jim smiled and said “See you around, doc.”

McCoy gave him another unsubtle look before shaking his head. “No.”

“To the nickname or the ‘see you around?’”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Jim smiled.

“ _Okay_ ,” McCoy repeated, putting more sarcasm in one monosyllable than Jim thought possible. He took back what he said about McCoy being human. He had too many outliers.

And then Jim was left stuck in his seat as he watched McCoy walk away yet again. He was really starting to like the guy.

* * *

 

When Jim waved at him in the mess hall two days later, McCoy frowned at him and walked straight out the door.

* * *

 

The next time, Jim snuck up on him. Maybe he could shock him into being friends. A solid strategy, if any.

He’d been passing by the row of study rooms in the library when he’d just barely caught a glimpse of the meticulous part of McCoy’s hair. He was pushing himself closer to his table. Books that made Jim feel dumb just looking at the titles were scattered around him. He looked around the deserted room before tip-toeing in.

McCoy was giving his textbook a concentrated glare. Despite that, he almost looked more relaxed than Jim had yet to see him. Jim came up right behind him.

“What’s your middle name?”

The jump McCoy gave was just as hilarious as Jim had imagined. The punch he’d landed in Jim’s stomach was not.

“What the fuck, kid?” McCoy yelled as Jim doubled over. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah. Bad idea,” Jim coughed, falling into the seat besides McCoy. “I thought it’d be funny. And it kinda was.”

McCoy shook his head darkly.

“So middle name,” Jim repeated. “I need more to work with for your nickname.”

“None of your fucking business.”

“I could just look it up, you know,” Jim smirked. “Starfleet’s systems are a joke, frankly, and we should all really be concerned that spaceships rely on those systems to function. Forget about disease and darkness, McCoy. Shotty programing is the real danger out there.”

He looked up at McCoy expectantly. He was doing that thing again where, if you looked hard enough, you could see the beginnings of a smirk. Not a smile, mind you. Jim had a feeling actual happiness was going to be a learned process for McCoy, taking months or even years. Depending how long he resisted the friendship Jim had planned for them. It was inevitable, really, and Jim was very, very patient when it counted.

“Are you even real?” McCoy eventually asked, staring at Jim blankly.

Jim rubbed his stomach. “I think so?”

McCoy nodded, but again, it seemed sarcastic somehow. Astonishing.

“You won’t look up my middle name,” he added off-handedly. Jim frowned.

“Yes I will.”

“No,” McCoy laughed. “You won’t. Wanna know how I know that?”

“Enlighten me.”

McCoy leaned back in his chair, smug. “ _Because I know your type_. You’re the kind of guy who would never take the easy way. You like the challenge, the chase, whatever you want to call it. Where’s the fun in looking up my file when you can spend the next two weeks trying to annoy it out of me? Do I have it right?”

Jim tried for a straight face. “Maybe.”

“Thought so,” McCoy picked up the stylus to his PADD again. “But I’m telling you now, kid: you won’t get it. I don’t share private information with strangers.”

“We’re not strangers. We’re at least acquaintances. You’re one of the few people I bothered to remember the name of. That’s something,” Jim pointed out.

“ _You’re_ something.”

Jim touched a hand to his heart. “Aw, McCoy, you do have a heart. I think you’re wrong though.”

McCoy tossed his pen down so he could fold his arms. “About what?”

“I think you will tell me,” Jim said, leaning forward. “ _Wanna know how I know that_?”

McCoy just waited impatiently until Jim skipped to the point.

“Because you sat down next to me last week. No one forced you, there were plenty of seats. You chose to sit next to me. That’s a pretty friendly thing to do, McCoy.”

McCoy leaned forward too, getting close enough for Jim to see the individual freckles he had across his nose. He swallowed roughly.

“We,” McCoy stressed, gesturing between them. “Are not friends. Stay out of my records, don’t sneak up on me again. Just leave me alone, kid.”

Jim met his eye for a few seconds, keeping his face impassive until he finally said “Do you want to get dinner?”

McCoy through up his arms. “Unbelievable.”

He immediately stood and pushed past Jim to gather his books from the table, shoving them into his bag.

“Unbelievable,” he said, looking at Jim one last time before heading out the door.

* * *

 

On Thursday, Jim had his PT course. It was required of all cadets and Jim actually enjoyed it. You worked within a smaller class of 8 and he liked everyone in his group so far. He didn’t know any of their names, but he liked them. They were equal parts judgy and encouraging, which was exactly the environment Jim needed to thrive. He liked pushing himself on the course. It was exhausting and painful but at the end of it, he felt like he was actually accomplishing something. It was still too early into his other classes for progress to be tangible. But here, he could directly see how his effort resulted. It relaxed him, in a way only physical exhaustion and agony could.

_He’d been running through the preset course, dodging the large stack of matts that represented Klingon cliffs or Romulan mountains, whatever the bullshit scenario they’d been given was. It was essentially an aggressive form of capture the flag, he’d realized. He was being chased by one of the guys in the “enemy” unit, a big mother fucker by the sound of the footsteps behind him._

_Jim picked up the speed. He jumped over a “dead” crewmate, taking the corner at a slide and—_

“And that’s all I really remember,” he told the nurse, holding the wad of gauze to his forehead with his left hand. “I…uh…apparently hit something.”

“S _omeone_ ,” the nurse corrected gently, looking up from the PADD she’d been copying notes on. “Your instructor said you ran into one of the other players.”

“Shit, are they alight?” Jim groaned.

“They’re fine,” she smiled, she patted Jim’s knee in what she probably thought was a comforting gesture. To him, it just felt incredibly belittling.

“Am I alright?” he asked suspiciously.

The nurse smiled wider, achieving a very hospitable condescension that Jim had only ever witnessed from medical professionals. “Let me go see where the doctor is.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh as soon as she’d left. The hospital lights were bright, insultingly so. The whole place seemed to be designed to taunt him. It’s not like he’d meant to get hurt. He stared sadly at his right hand. At this point, it’d gone fairly numb. He kept it against his chest to prevent the bones shifting more than they apparently already had. The sooner everything was back in place, the sooner he could get back to the course. What was the point of them inventing advanced regeneration if not to allow people to move on with their lives almost immediately? Jim sighed.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Jim pulled his head up from his hands, squinting at the door. McCoy was leaning against the frame wearing scrubs. And he was smiling. An honest-to-God, committed smile.

“Oh fuck me,” Jim groaned. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you,” McCoy said, pushing off the door. “I’m a doctor.”

“Yeah but I thought that meant in the general sense, not like, you know, literal.”

McCoy picked up the PADD the nurse had left on the table, glancing through it idly. “Starfleet is desperate for doctors. Apparently, they get a lot of cadets coming in. Mainly show off command tracks who think everything is a fucking game. Sound familiar?”

“It was an accident,” Jim protested weakly.

“Yeah, I know,” McCoy said, tossing the chart on the counter behind him.

“Was that sarcasm?”

“No.”

“Was _that_ sarcasm? I’m having a little trouble keeping up, I think I have a concussion.”

“No and yes, you do. I can tell you that right now,” McCoy said. “Your instructor told me they had to drag your unconscious ass across campus, bleeding the whole time. It looks like a goddamn crime scene in the streets.”

He gently put a hand around Jim’s wrist and pulled his hand away from the bloody mess of his forehead. “Now, let’s see how badly you fucked up, Jim.”

Jim winced as he peeled away the gauze someone had given him to hold onto, somewhere between waking up and now, however long that’d been.

McCoy, oddly enough, kept his hand circled around Jim’s good wrist. He examined Jim’s head in silence, tilting his chin to get the different angles. He pulled out clean gauze from his pocket and dabbed the edges of the cut. Jim winced.

“Sorry,” McCoy said quietly.

“I’ve had worse,” Jim shrugged. McCoy snorted.

“I know. I’ve seen your chart. No offense, kid, but how the fuck are you still alive?”

“I have no idea,” Jim deadpanned.

“You’re lucky this time,” McCoy said finally, stepping back from Jim and dropping his hand. “Let me see your hand.”

Jim slowly raised his right hand until McCoy could take it with his own. Jim watched him examine it with an open mouth. It was fascinating how comfortable he was at this. He was running his eyes up and down Jim’s arm, a small frown on his face. His hands moved quickly, efficiently, but with a graceful ease.  They determined look on his face made Jim feel very… safe.

“So,” Jim said conversationally. “How’s Jeremy?”

McCoy spared Jim a quick look. “You know damn well how he is.”

Jim picks at the thin biobed blanket, his eyebrows rising innocently. “Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb, kid. It looks shitty on you.”

Jim let his face drop. “How the hell did you know it was me?”

McCoy stood up straight, folding his arms. “I tell you at 10 am that I hate him and he just so happens to receive a room transfer order by lunch. Subtlety ain’t your strong suit, is it?”

“Not really, no,” Jim smiled. He was surprised how good McCoy seemed to be taking this. Jim would even go as far as to say McCoy looked pleased about it. McCoy shook his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said. “You also have broken at least four bones in your hand.”

Jim winced. “Is that bad?”

“Yes, idiot, that’s bad,” McCoy glared. “You’re going to have to sit through a few rounds of regen. Are you even capable of sitting still?”

“Sometimes,” Jim smiles, bringing his A game. “Given the right motivation.”

“Is the use of your dominant hand motivation enough?”

“Eh.”

McCoy closed his eyes for a brief second before turning to the equipment in the corner.

“Seriously, though,” Jim went back. “My hand should be okay, right?”

 “Yeah, kid. I’m very good at my job.”

“Good.” Jim looked at McCoy with a smirk. “All I’ve got left is my bones.”

McCoy looked over his shoulder, with a raised eyebrow. “You’re fucking hilarious.”

Jim laughed as he leaned back on the bed, letting his good arm cradle his head. It was the truth. The only thing worth a damn he’d brought with to Starfleet was himself, his bones. So did McCoy, apparently, but at least he also had the ability to heal bones. The symbolism was a little heavy handed, but he liked it.  Jim tilted his head to look at McCoy dragging the regenerator to his bedside.

“Bones,” he said aloud, smirking as McCoy turned around.

“What?”

“Bones,” he repeated. “That’s it. That’s your name.”

“What? Why?”

Jim shrugged. “Wouldn’t that ruin the magic.”

Bones scowled. “You are very annoying.”

“I know,” Jim smiled. He got more comfortable in the bed as Bones reached for his bad arm. “Hey, you want to get lunch after this?”

There was silence for a minute as Bones tinkered with the controls of the machine. Then..

“Yeah, okay.”

 

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm obsessed with academy-era McKirk at the moment, hence the last two chapters. I do have to admit that the "Can I get your number"/ "I don't have a phone" exchange was me paying homage to a McKirk comic I love. They in turn had taken it from the tumblr account incorrectstartrekquotes. Jim and Bones sharing a stafleet history class is borrowed from every academy fic ever written. Thanks for all the comments and kudos lately! Beyond comes out in 4 days and I'm too excited to really function. Also, sorry for anyone named Jeremy.


	32. Not Hungover

There was a better than decent chance the trip was going to end terribly. Shore leave, for this crew in particular, seemed to never end without broken limbs or broken laws. Even then, they’d had the ship to fall back on; a transporter to beam them out, communicators to use, contact of any kind. But the ship needed a break. Their systems needed overhauls. It was just four days. Four days, disconnected from the ship. Enjoying the beach, each other, without the ever present ‘fleet looming over their shoulders to guilt them into working. So, for once in his goddamn life, McCoy had decided to be an optimist. He and Jim were still pretty new to this whole “we love each other in a gay way” thing and their jobs as senior members of the federation didn’t really allow them time to stop and really enjoy that. They planned on having no plans this trip, wanting to spend the four days sitting on the beach or watching stupid movies or staring lovingly into each other’s eyes or…other stuff. Jim was very excited. McCoy was very excited. The whole ship was very excited. Not for Jim and McCoy, obviously, but for their well-deserved vacations. So, the week before they were set to land, when Jim had asked him “This’ll be fun, right?” McCoy had rolled his eyes, smiled, and said “It’s going to be great, Jim.”

They prove quite unfortunate last words. Because what else was fucking new.

 

/////////////////////

 

“So I’m sittin’ in the stall, trying not to puke. I’m hyperventilating and I’m 65% sure I’m gonna pass out,” McCoy explains, leaning closer to Sulu and Scotty so they could hear him over the noise of the bar. He pauses to take a drink. “Then the co-pilot comes in and practically drags me out by my ear. She’s trying to get me to calm down and I’m out of mind, so I’m yelling right back at her. In front of all the new cadets. Ask Uhura or Hendorff, they’ll tell ya. So she eventually gets me to—oh, speak of the devil.”

All three of them look up as Jim pushed through the last of the crowd to get to their table in the back.

“Sorry, sorry, I got held up going with the sign off,” he said, sliding into the booth. McCoy handed over the beer they had waiting for him, getting a bright smile and a kiss in thanks.

“Were your ears burnin’?” McCoy asked. “We were just talking about the shuttle ride from Riverside.”

Jim snorted into his beer. “Where you threw up on me?”

“I also threw up on myself, so,” McCoy shrugged. He turned back to Sulu and Scotty. “So she sits me down next to Jim. Now I know I looked like a mess—”

“You weren’t a mess, you were half drunk out of your mind. There’s a difference.”

McCoy kicked Jim under the table. But a light kick. It was their way of showing affection.

“Now I know I looked like a mess, but Jim’s covered in blood. He’s bruised to all holy hell. I remember thinking ‘at least I don’t look like that guy.’”

“And I remember thinking the exact same thing about you, Bones.”

“You _wish_ you looked like me.”

“Whatever.”

“And anyways, I threw up on him,” McCoy smiled. “But not before telling him all the ways we could die on the shuttle.”

“He had me at ‘Andorian shingles,’” Jim said, putting a hand to his chest and leaning back against McCoy.

“No offense, laddies,” Scotty cut in, taking a drink from his glass. “But that is a horrible story. Couple stories are supposed to be romantic and what not. This was the exact opposite of that.”

“I love it,” McCoy smirked. Jim beamed and grabbed his hand under the table.

“You disgust me,” Scotty laughed. He threw his arm around Sulu next to him and raised a glass.

“To being young, single men,” he cheered.

Sulu pulled out of Scotty’s reach immediately.

“Don’t put that curse on me,” he deadpanned. Scotty looked at him with utter betrayal.

“That hurts, Sulu,” he said. “That hurts.”

Sulu took a deliberate drink of his beer.

“By the way,” Jim said with a sudden rush. “I told Spock to join us. Uhura is going out dancing and I didn’t want him to be stick at the hotel.” As soon as McCoy opened his mouth to let Jim know exactly how he felt about this new development Jim spoke over him. “I’m only telling you this now because he just walked through the door and _I need you to try and be chill about this okay I love you please don’t kill him_ Spock! You made it!”

McCoy quickly dropped his frown as Spock appeared at Jim’s elbow.

“Captain,” he said smoothly, with a tip of his head in their direction. “Doctor.”

McCoy raised his glass. “Spock. Pull up a seat.”

Jim squeezed in close to McCoy so Spock could sit next to him, pushing McCoy uncomfortable close to the wall. Jim shot him an apologetic smile.

The table lapsed into silence as Spock looked around serenely.

“We were just talking about love,” Scotty said, breaking the awkwardness the only way he knew how—by making it more awkward.

“Oh,” Spock said.

“Well were talking about how the Captain and Dr. McCoy met,” Sulu added. “We’d never heard the story.”

“I remember it,” Spock said, looking at McCoy. “From the incident in the elevator.”

“Oh yeah,” McCoy laughed. “I’d almost forgotten about that. Remember when Spock and I got stuck in the elevator and it took you 5 goddamn hours to get us out?”

“We thought we’d open the doors to find you guys had murdered each other,” Scotty said, almost wistful.

“It took you a week to get you to use the turbolift again,” Jim nodded. “You used the Jefferies Tubes to get everywhere until you ripped your pants right up the ass trying to get up the ladder.”

_“Jim, goddammit! You told me you’d never tell anyone that!”_

McCoy glared deeply at Jim as the others laughed around them. Even Spock looked amused, in his own way. Astounding. McCoy watched him look around the table, almost furtively.

“Would you like to hear how Lieutenant Uhura and I met? I believe it is a better story than Dr. McCoy’s and the Captain’s.”

The laughter drained from Sulu, Scotty, and Jim’s faces as they turned slowly to Spock, open-mouthed. McCoy just smirked.

“Tell ‘em, Spock,” he said, taking a drink. “It’ll make ‘em respect you more.”

Spock straightened his back against the booth.

“Her second year at the academy,” he said. “Lieutenant Uhura tested out of all advanced Vulcan language courses. Her scores were impressive. So much so, that the administration assigned her to be my teaching assistant in the introductory course. Her gift for language stood out to me. She approached the subject very critically, very precise. Our courtship seemed logical.”

He looked around the table calmly.

“You…you fucked your TA?” Jim said slowly.

“Holy shit,” Sulu added.

“Oh my god,” Scotty finished.

“Put crudely, I suppose,” Spock said. “Though I would not let Lieutenant Uhura hear you phrase the beginning of our relationship as such.”

There was a pause, a 30 second break of silence around the table. Then everyone lost it. Their laughter was loud enough to drown out the sound of the crowded bar. Jim was leaning on McCoy for support, Scotty kept slapping the table, and Sulu had actual tears running down his face. Spock watched them all with a smug look.

“I think this calls for another round, gentlemen,” Scotty pushed off the vinyl booth, still giggling.

“Surprise us,” Sulu said, wiping his eyes.  

“Spock?” Scotty asked with a smirk.

“No thank you, Mr. Scott. I do not drink.”

“Ever?” Scotty asked.

Spock shook his head. “The effect of alcohol on Vulcan physiology is…pronounced. I have never had the inclination.”

“Wait wait wait,” Jim leaned forward. “So you can actually get drunk?”

“Yes,” Spock said. “All Vulcans possess the capability, though their tolerance is much higher than that of a human. Logic would suggest that I would fall somewhere in between the two.”

Jim looked around at the other three deliberately until he caught McCoy’s eye. A whole conversation passed between them, a grin slowly breaking out on Jim’s face as McCoy finally gave him a look that said _fine, but whatever happens is on you_.

Jim threw his arm around Spock, leaning in close.

“Spock, buddy, hear me out on this…”

//////////////////

When McCoy woke up, he knew immediately something has gone terribly, terribly wrong.

To begin with, he’s dying.

His head pounded in time with his heart beat, rattling his eyes and boiling his blood. He tried to curl his body inward, instinctively feeling as though the fetal position might protect him. The attack, he processed slowly, wasn’t external, as the pain only worsened with every movement he made. He breathed in and out as slowly as he could. He dimly became aware of a person being on the bed beside him. They shifted, causing the entire bed to shake and McCoy to clench his eyes tightly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, McCoy rolled over in the bed. His face hit solid chest. He burrowed in, needing the stability to orient himself.

“Jim,” he croaked, reaching an arm out to pull Jim closer by his waist. “Jim ‘m dying.”

Jim shifted against him.

“Uhhhhhh Dr. McCoy?”

McCoy snapped his eyes open. “Sulu?”

He and Sulu both jerked away from each other as soon as they locked eyes. McCoy’s balance was off, however, and he ended up rolling completely off the bed.

“FUCK,” he groaned, grabbing his head. “ _Fuck fuck fuck_.”

“Please stop yelling,” Sulu groaned. “I will throw up.”

McCoy’s stomach rolled painfully. “Oh god.”

He laid as still as he could on the floor, his back on the carpet, trying to simply breathe. Okay, okay, okay. He needed to take stock. After a minute of calming his stomach down, he felt safe enough to (slowly) open his eyes. Luckily the shades were pulled tight across the window or else he probably would have cried. Still, even the bare light that came in at the edges caused him to wince. He looked around slowly. _Oh shit._ He’d thought they’d must have been back at the hotel, in one of their rooms. But, this room was completely unfamiliar, ringing zero bells in McCoy’s aching head. It was dingy and musty, the entire room painted a dull mustard color. Starfleet would never allow its flagship crew to stay in a place as sketchy as this.  

“Where the hell are we?” Sulu asked above him, apparently going through the same process as McCoy.

“I have no idea.”

He had no memory of this room. He tried thinking back to last night, to grasp at any thread, only to get vague impressions and flashes here and there. His memories where loud, but non-linear. It was like a painting in the rain, bleeding together into a dizzying mess. He winced again.

“Do you remember how we got here?” he asked. Sulu was silent for a minute.

“No?”

“Jesus Christ,” McCoy mumbled, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Dead, probably,” McCoy said, only half sarcastic.

“I don’t want to be alive,” Sulu said quietly.

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before a very muffled voice suddenly spoke next to McCoy’s head.

“Oh god,” it groaned.

McCoy jumped, instinctively sliding back from the voice. “What the fuck?”

“Shhhhh,” the voice said.

McCoy managed to squint at the bed. Crammed under the bed, hidden from the light of the room, was Scotty.

“Scotty,” McCoy sighed. “Thank God, you’re alive.”

“Shut up,” Scotty snapped back. “M’head’s gonna explode.”

“Is Jim under there with you?” McCoy whispered.

He watched Scotty feel around in the darkness beside. “No.”

“Shit.”

Despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to lie there the rest of his life, McCoy very slowly sat up. He took stock of the room again. Sulu was on the bed, face down in the pillow. Scotty was under the bed. No Spock, no Jim. He eyed the closed bathroom door.

“Fuck,” he said, very gingerly pushing himself to stand. He stumbled against the bed, causing both Sulu and Scotty to groan in protest. He turned the handle and pushed in.

It was empty.

“Dammit, Jim.”

He let his head drop forward, hanging uselessly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light bounce off a metal handle. Shit. A balcony.

He stumbled across the room as fast he could, reaching for the handle and yanking it open. His head exploded as the sun hit him and he had to cover his eyes as best he could. He blinked a few times before he could finally see. Jim was sprawled in one of the deck chairs.

“Jim,” McCoy said, walking over to him. He crouched down.

“Jim. Jim, wake up,” he said, grabbing Jim’s face roughly. “Tell me you aren’t dead.”

Jim jerked out of McCoy’s grasp. “Sto’it.”

“Thank god,” McCoy sighed and sat down on the ground.

Jim’s face scrunched up and he whispered “Bones…am I dying?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” McCoy said, rubbing his eyes.  “Can we go inside now?”

“Are we not inside?” Jim asked, opening his eyes before closing them immediately. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.”

“Come on,” McCoy said, heaving himself up. He grabbed Jim by the wrist. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

Jim was practically dead weight but McCoy managed to drag him back through the glass doors and into the room. He pushed him until the fell onto the bed next to Sulu.

“Captain?”

“Sulu?”

“I didn’t sleep with Dr. McCoy, I swear.”

Jim snapped open his eyes. “ _What?_ ”

“I woke up next to Sulu. I don’t _think_ we had sex,” McCoy explained.

“Oh good,” Jim snapped, glaring up at him. “Now I feel better.”

“Please, could ya not?” Scotty called out to them.

Jim looked around the room as best he could from his spot on the bed. “Scotty?”

“Under the bed,” McCoy sighed, easing himself down the wall until he could sit on the floor. He dropped his head into his hands.

“Where’s Spock?”

McCoy shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Shit,” Jim groaned. He paused. “What the fuck happened last night?”

“I can’t remember,” McCoy said.

“Yeah,” Jim said. “Me neither.”

“We,” Sulu started. “We were at the bar.”

“With Spock,” McCoy nodded.

“Drinking. A lot,” Jim said.

“Are we…hungover?” Sulu asked. McCoy looked up.

“Sulu,” he said quietly. “Look me in the eye right now.”

Sulu and Jim both turned as best they could until they could see McCoy leaning against the wall.

“This,” he said. “Is not an earth hangover. No man-mad alcohol could have done this. This is…this is ungodly.”

“Alien,” Jim corrected.

McCoy’s stomach clenched. He groaned, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I’m gonna puke,” he managed through clenched teeth. “Or pass out. Or die.”

“Can’t you fix this?” Sulu asked.

“If I had my kit. Which I don’t. I don’t see any of our stuff here. Wherever _here_ is.”

“We have to find Spock,” Jim cut in. “We have to call someone.”

“Who, Jim? The _Enterprise_? No one’s home, remember?”

“I don’t know! Uhura then.”

 “Hi Nyota, it’s Leonard,” McCoy mocked. “We got your soul mate shit faced on alien devil liquor and now he’s missing, might even be dead. Can you come pick us up? Thanks.”

“Well at least I’m trying to come up with ideas, Bones!”

“They don’t count as ideas if they’re useless, Jim. Sort of like how it was your ‘idea’ to get a Vulcan drunk.”

“Well you allowed it to happen, Dr. Righteousness. And least I didn’t fuck Sulu.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t have sex with Sulu. How could you even think that?”

“You said you _probably_ didn’t sleep with him. Probably, Bones! Now you’re changing your story.”

“No matter how drunk I was, I would never sleep with Sulu,” McCoy turned to Sulu. “No offense.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Jim asked, scandalized.

McCoy threw up his arms. “Then why the hell are we fighting about this?”

“Because it makes me feel better about Spock missing.”

McCoy was so livid his words got stuck. He stumbles up from his spot on the floor to jump on Jim, who lets out a high-pitched yell and covers his face.

“STOP BONES I’M GOING TO PUKE.”

McCoy pinched Jim’s arm one more time before rolling off of him. He situated himself on the bed and stared miserably at the ceiling. Due to the fact that Scotty had remained silent throughout the whole affair, McCoy could only assume he was dead.

“What if we just…go find him?”

Jim and McCoy both looked at Sulu.

“We go to the bar,” he said. “That’s the last place we for sure remember him, right? We start there, ask around.”

McCoy and Jim met each other’s eyes, pausing a few seconds before McCoy shrugged.

“Let’s go,” Jim agreed. “Bones knows how to get us there.”

McCoy raised a miserable eyebrow.

“Don’t eyebrow me,” Jim groaned. “I know for a fact you spent the last month memorizing the entire map of this town, you paranoid harpy.”

“You’re assuming we’re still even in the right town. We could be on a different planet for all any of us remember.”

“No way to find out unless we get out of this room.”

McCoy looked sadly at Jim, speaking lowly.

“Remember how nice our vacation was going to be?”

“We still have time. We’ll find Spock and then go back to the hotel and I promise you we won’t have to leave again,” Jim smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry I got in a fight with you just to hide my crippling panic over Spock.”

“I’m sorry I fucked Sulu.”

“Bones!”

“Alright, I’m sorry I let you goat me into a fight. Better?”

Jim nodded.

“I guess let’s do this, then,” McCoy growled, hauling himself up to stand. He squinted down at Sulu and Jim. “I call not dragging Scotty out.”

They both groaned.

///////////

It took them twenty minutes, but they finally got Scotty out from under the bed. He looked in worse shape than the rest of them, which was actually fucking saying a lot. He’d looked around at them all before immediately throwing up on the floor, covering Jim’s shoes.

_“Ah god. I’m real sorry, Captain.”_

_“Why does this always happen to me?”_

After searching the room top to bottom, they concluded three things 1) Scotty was disgusting, 2) the hotel was in fact located in the town the _Enterprise_ crew had been dropped in and 3) between the four of them, they had nothing but the clothes they were wearing. Though, Jim didn’t even really have that now. No communicators, no wallets, no tricorders, no med kits, no glaring clues from last night that they could use to piece together exactly what the fuck happened. They all agreed that they had been drinking at the bar. With Spock.

_“I…I remember running?” Scotty said._

_“Where?”_

_Scotty shrugged helplessly._

Finally, _finally_ , they’d managed to leave the room. Walking into the lobby, they’d fanned out into a single line. Like a phalanx of bad decisions; a chorus line of misery. Jim kept close to McCoy, occasionally reaching out and squeezing his hand. McCoy wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to reassure, but he wasn’t going to complain. Jim was barefoot and distressed, while McCoy was just regular ol’ distressed.

One man sat behind the desk at the hotel entrance, looking as unwanted and unpleasant as the hotel décor. It added to the impression that the place was nothing more than a very unimaginative metaphor.As soon as his eyes looked up at them, he smiled.

“Dr. Bones!” he yelled, leaning over the counter and waving at them. “Dr. Bones!”

McCoy instinctively looked around them, as if the man could possibly be talking to someone else.

“Bones, he means you.”

“No shit, Jim.”

McCoy gave the man a very quick wave back, doing his best grimacy smile before walking over there. The man reached out and grabbed his hand before McCoy had a chance to react, shaking it excitedly.

“It’s actually Dr. McCoy,” McCoy said. The man frowned.

“That’s not what you told me last night,” he said.

McCoy looked at the others.

“We saw you last night?”

“You don’t remember?” the man asked, looking almost crestfallen.

“Uh, not really,” McCoy said. “We were slightly…drunk.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” McCoy said. He leaned on the counter. “Maybe you can help us, uh, fill in the details?”

“Like?”

“Anything,” McCoy sighed. “Anything at all.”

The guy looked at them with a suspicious smile, like he was worried they were fucking with him.

“Uh, well. You got here at 3 am,” he said. “You were—you really don’t remember this?”

They all shook their heads. Expect for Scotty, you had somehow managed to slide to the floor during the conversation. He was leaning against the desk with his eyes closed, probably asleep. Possibly dead.

“You saved Teasha’s life, Dr. Bones.”

McCoy’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

The clerk nodded, looking…proud?

“She was out here with me last night. You were very adamant you stich her up. Actual stiches! I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even think they made those any—”

McCoy held up his hand and the guy stuttered to a stop.

“Excuse me,” he said, taking a deep breath. He stepped back from the counter, slipping out of Jim’s hand, past Sulu’s wide-eyed stare, away from all of them. He took deep, calming breaths as evenly as he could, before walking over to the nearest trashcan and throwing up. Twice.

“Uh…is Teasha here now? Can Dr. Bones see her? Immediately? As soon as possible? _Right now_?” McCoy heard Jim step in and ask the clerk.

“Oh for sure! She’ll love it. She’s getting back to her old self now that she’s better. All thanks to you!” the clerk said brightly. McCoy gripped the edge of the trashcan tightly. McCoy watched him duck back behind the counter, to the office off to the side.

“Bones,” Jim said, walking over to grab McCoy by the shoulders. “ _Bones._ ”

McCoy reached up to hold onto Jim by the wrists. “Jim I…I practiced medicine while drunk. I could lose my license. I could go to jail.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

“I can’t be your cmo anymore, Jim.”

“ _That’s not going to happen and you know it.”_

McCoy was gripping Jim’s wrists as tight as he could. “Jim.”

The back office door swung back open. “I told you Dr. Bones would come back to see you!”

Jim and McCoy looked up.

The clerk had returned, his arms full of…

A dog.

A small dog.

A small, black and white dog with a white bandage wrapped up and down its ridiculous paw. It blinked up at them serenely.

Jim stared critically at the dog. “This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Sulu, comment?”

Sulu reached out tentatively to pet the dog. “You’re a hero, Dr. Bones.”

“I want to go home now,” McCoy said. He rubbed his eyes as he leaned on the counter. Teasha was a dog. He hadn’t operated on a human being drunk. While fixing the dog was kind of a dick move, at least it wasn’t illegal.

Jim had joined in to pet Teasha and looked back at him. “Spock first, then home.”

Oh god. In his panic of the last few minutes, he’d completely forgotten about the fact that Spock still was missing. Spock, whose fault this technically all was. Spock, who had ruined what should have been Jim and McCoy’s first day of vacation by rubbing his ghostly fingers all over their drinking night.

“Alright, let’s go then. I hate this place so goddamn much,” McCoy said, helping Sulu pull Scotty to his feet. He dusted off the Scotsman, then himself, all while purposefully turning his back to the hotel owner.

“I’m sure am sorry about all the trouble,” the clerk said anyway. “I really do appreciate it, Dr. Bones.”

“Don’t mention it,” McCoy growled. “Seriously. Tell no one about this.”

“I went ahead and took care of your guy’s room! On the house, as a thanks. I hope you guys find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“I don’t.”

“Bones, goddammit.”

////////

They ended up walking the entire way back to the bar, because McCoy was petty like that. But mainly, it was due to the fact that he refused to get in any form of public transportation. He called it his “I know how diseases spread” policy. Jim, mindful of the fact that McCoy was having a bit of a rough day, had said nothing. Though they hadn’t expected to find Spock passed out along the sidewalks of the route, they kept themselves cautious. McCoy kept expecting that every time they turned a corner, someone would be there to say “oh no not you again.”

McCoy hadn’t been lying when he’d told Sulu that this wasn’t a hangover because A) during the brief 6-month period after leaving Georgia, he’d been every single level of drunk imaginable. He knew what black out drunk was. This was not that. This was next level trashed. And B) on his good days, he was a Starfleet doctor—and on his bad days he apparently was a half decent veterinarian. No amount of man-made alcohol would cause such an alarming loss of control, this utter and complete blackness in terms of memory. This was a sick joke, an accident, or a robbery. All their stuff was missing, including wallets and comms and even their Vulcan.

_“Who would steal Spock?”_

_“I don’t know, Jim. Who would consciously choose to be friends with him?”_

_“I…okay.”_

But McCoy discounted that theory. Jim and Sulu were, putting it lightly, insane when it came to fighting. They fucking lived for it. No matter how drunk (or drugged or whatever) they were, there is no way they would have gone down without a fight. Scotty, yes. McCoy, hell yes. But not Jim and Sulu.

Eventually, they made it. They were sunburnt to shit, tired as hell, but at least they’d been spared having to ride in any cesspool masked as a city vehicle. Small mercies, McCoy guessed.

It took them a couple seconds to let their eyes adjust. They’d been out in the sun too long and the bar was too dark to really make out anything.

“Oh thank Christ.”

McCoy squinted into the dark bar, recognizing the specific mix of relief, annoyance, and threat in the feminine voice. He’d also been trained for years to know that lilac perfume anywhere, regardless of sight.

_“Christine?”_

Christine was running towards them across the bar, looking spittin’ mad. McCoy had two seconds to process the fact that this was the first time he’d seen her outside of uniform before she was jumping at him in a running hug. On instinct alone he managed to wrap his arms around her. She held on tightly.

“I was so worried,” she said into his shoulder before letting go. She looked him up and down. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she grabbed at Jim next, then Sulu and Scotty, pulling them into a giant clusterfuck of a group hug.

“What are you doing here?” McCoy asked.

Christine let the other three go solely, it seemed, to put her hands on her hips.

“Looking for you dumb idiots,” she said. “Half the ship is out looking for you. I had to stay here to look after Spock.”

McCoy felt Jim immediately sag against his side at the same time as McCoy sighed with unexpected relief.

“Spock’s here?” Sulu said.

“He’s alive?” Scotty said, at the same time. It was the first time McCoy had heard him actually speak in the last 3 hours, so apparently he must have been feeling a little better.

“Oh he’s alive alright. I just don’t think he’s happy about it,” Christine said. The words were joking but her face was not. She apparently gotten over her relief at seeing them because now she had settled back to annoyance. She pointed to the corner booth they’d sat in last night. “Go check on him while I call off the goddamn search parties.”

Spock’s head was resting on the table as they walked cautiously up to him. He looked up and McCoy immediately felt...guilty…actual, genuine guilt as he assessed Spock. Spock looked about as good as McCoy felt. The problem was, Spock’s usual prim and precise presence meant that whenever anything was slightly disheveled, the effect was heightened tenfold. He looked terrible and, more disconcerting, miserable. Spock didn’t do outward emotion. So McCoy was feeling guilty for the poor bastard. Even though, again, this was almost entirely his fault.

“Heyyyyyyyyyyy buddy,” Jim said quietly, sliding into the seat beside him. “Ya feeling alright?”

Spock looked up at them all, his mouth a grim line.

“Yeah, us neither,” McCoy said, dropping onto the other side of the booth. He leaned his head down on the table. It was cold and probably riddled with VDs from the dark ages but he just needed a moment. A lot had happened in the last 5 minutes.

And that’s all they said for a while.

Sulu and Scotty fell asleep after a few minutes, heads fallen back against the vinyl of the booth headrest. Spock just stared straight ahead, like McCoy had seen war veterans look out at nothing. Jim’s head had dipped down to his chest, but he stayed awake. He kept blinking around at them all, like he was reassuring himself. McCoy caught his eye and tried to smile, but couldn’t quite get it.

Minutes, hours, days later, Christine was back. She stared down at them the same way she stared at patients: like loved them, but knew they weren’t to be trusted.

“Nice pants,” McCoy said, for lack of anything better to break the ice. They were nice pants, he guessed. Christine put her hands on her hips.

“Cut the shit, Leonard,” she said, low and taut. “Do you have any idea what I went through last night?”

“Christine, we don’t even know what _we_ went through.”

“Alright,” she said, doing a quick pace up to the very edge of the table. “Alright. You better get your damn story straight before Nyota gets here.”

“We don’t have a story!”

“Exactly, Jim!” she laughed. “So let’s start from the beginning.”

McCoy sighed, closing his eyes to try to remember last night.

“Uhhhh…we were here?” Sulu said.

“Drinking,” Scotty added, echoing the first time they’d had this conversation.

“Spock showed up,” Jim frowned. “We thought it’d be fun to get him drunk.”

“ _We_ must certainly did not, Jim,” McCoy snapped up from the table. “You did. Not us. Don’t put this evil on me.”

“Okay, so it was 60% my idea.”

“90%.”

“80%.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow. Jim sighed, locking eyes with him for a minute before turning to Christine.

“It’s like 89.9% my fault, but I didn’t mean for…for all this—” Jim wildly gestured around the table. “—to happen. We were having fun! It was a guys’ night.”

“Oh of course,” Christine said, throwing up her hands. “A guys’ night. Please tell me where, in the sacred text of masculine bonding, does it mention the need to poison each other?”

“We didn’t poison each other! Wait did we?”

Jim looked around the table.

“Somebody did,” Christine snapped. “Spock has some sort of foreign toxin in his body that the scanner can’t identify. Based on the fact that you all look the same level of _almost dead_ , I’m assuming you all ingested the same thing.”

“Who the hell would drug us?” Sulu asked. “Please tell me we didn’t do this to ourselves.”

“I like to think I have enough sanity in me not to buy drugs off a goddamn stranger in a bar,” McCoy said. He looked pointedly at Jim, who threw up his hands.

“Jesus, Bones! I didn’t drug us.”

McCoy shrugged, unfazed. He loved Jim, God help him, but he also knew that Jim was occasionally a colossal idiot who tended to fuck up as means of entertainment. He had criminal, medical, and academic records to prove such assessment.  McCoy wouldn’t apologize for being logical about who among the 5 seated suspects he was most suspicious about. He turned to Scotty.

“Scotty?”

Scotty thought long and hard for a moment before shaking his head.

“No?” he said.

“Great, so none of us did it. We’ve solved shit,” McCoy said, rolling his eyes. “Now you tell us what you know.”

Christine shook her head darkly. She pointed behind her at the bar, where the bartender from last night was wiping down some glasses.

“Owner of the bar calls Nyota last night at 2:30 from Spock’s comm, says that he’s got someone sitting on his floor that refuses to leave,” Christine told them. “Nyota gets here, finds Spock helping the bar tender clean the place.”

McCoy knew Jim well enough to reach out and kick him under the table before he could laugh.

“She thought he was drunk. He was yelling at her.”

“I would never yell at Lieutenant Uhura,” Spock said quietly.

“He was telling her and the bartender _forcefully_ that he could not leave because, and this is a direct quote here, ‘the captain told me to wait here.’”

“Awwww Spock, I r—”

“Shut up, Jim,” Christine and McCoy snapped at the same time. They made awkward eye contact before McCoy looked back down at his hands.

“Nyota calls me because she’s starting to think something might be wrong with Spock. So I get dragged out of bed at 3 in the morning to go perform medical treatment in some dive bar. On the first day of my vacation,” she added bitterly. “After we realized Spock had been drugged, we called in any crew member we could find to search for you. We thought you dead on the side of the street.”

“Actually, it was a shitty motel on the other side of town,” Sulu pointed out. “Don’t know how we got there, though…”

“Unbelievable,” Christine said, rubbing her eyes. “So you don’t remember abandoning Spock?”

Jim scoffed. “I would never aba—”

The door to the bar slammed open and Uhura stood silhouetted against the sun. She looked displeased.

“Oh shit,” Jim whispered.

Uhura walked over to them slowly. She was still wearing pajamas, the flannel pants tucked into her regulation boots. Her hair, naturally, was pulled back pristinely. She stopped beside Christine.

“Start talking.”

The table remained silent.

“ _Now_ ,” Uhura snapped.

 “Bones saved a dog’s life,” Jim said hastily.

“I didn’t mean to,” McCoy sighed.

“They don’t remember anything,” Christine said, throwing her arm out to stop Uhura from diving at them. “They don’t know how they got drugged or why they left Spock.”

“We woke up in a hotel on the other side of town,” Scotty said, his arms up in surrender. “Without our stuff, without anything.”

“We didn’t want to call you because we thought we might have killed Spock,” Jim said. “Which, okay, yeah, sounds pretty fucking stupid now that I say it out loud to your face. But in our defense, we were really, really, hungover.”

Uhura gave a very tight, controlled sigh. She closed her eyes briefly.

“Words cannot describe how angry I am at you right now,” she said quietly.

Christine glared at them all to bring the point home.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

They all looked around at each other, hoping the others at the table would be able to remember something.

“Uhhhhh…I remember Scotty going to get us another round?” Jim said.

McCoy and Sulu nodded while Scotty scratched his head.

“I…might remember doing that,” he said. “I talked to bar tender, I think. He seemed nice.”

“He is nice,” Christine said. “He let us stay here to wait for you, in case you came back.”

“Does he know what happened?” McCoy asked.

Uhura and Christine looked at each other.

“You did ask him, right?”

“We didn’t get a chance to, Leonard. We were a little preoccupied looking for you,” Christine snapped.

“Fair enough,” McCoy said. He whistled to get the bartender’s attention. The guy looked up. “Excuse me. Can you tell us what happened last night? We’re a little fuzzy on the details.”

The guy snorted. “I bet you are.”

He set down his rag and the glass he’d been cleaning, walking over to them. He looked like every bartender of every dive bar McCoy had ever been to; gritty, bearded, and wearing flannel.

“Yeah, sorry for whatever we might have done last night. We were pretty drunk.”

“I know,” the guy said. “I was serving you.”

“Right,” McCoy said. “About that. You didn’t drug us, did you?”

The bar tender raised an eyebrow.

“Are you talking about the Acamarian rum?”

“What the fuck is Acamarian rum?” Jim asked.

“Rum that is manufactured in Acamaria.”

“Spock I fucking swear to God—.”

“People tend to have a bad reaction to it,” the bartender. “That’s why I told him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

They turned to Scotty, who had gone wide-eyed.

“Now listen here,” he said. “This is an attack on my character. I would never do such a thing.”

“This is exactly something you would do, Scotty,” Jim said.

“Oh alright. I don’t remember doing it, but aye. I…can see how I might have done it.”

“Jesus Christ, Scotty. We could have died.”

“I didn’t know! I thought he was just messing around,” Scotty said, pointing at the bartender.

“I don’t fuck around with Acamarian rum,” the guy said.

“He doesn’t fuck around with Acamarian rum, Scotty,” McCoy said. “And you didn’t listen.”

Scotty looked down at the table.

“Alright, enough,” Jim said. “Scotty fucked up. Let’s move on.”

“What happened after we had the rum?” McCoy asked. “Please tell me I didn’t try to provide medical advice to anyone.”

“Uh no,” the bartender said. “You all just sort of started yelling.”

“I do not yell,” Spock said.

“Okay,” the bar tender said, frowning. “You were laughing, from what I could tell. Eventually you four left and left him here with your stuff.”

“Did we say were we were going?” Sulu asked.

“No, but you left a note.”

“ _Are you serious_?”

The bar tender gave them a look. “No, I’m not. It wasn’t my job to look after you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” the bartender said. “Are we good here?”

“As good as we can be, I guess,” McCoy said. “Thanks for your help.”

The guy nodded and walked away.

“Okay, so at least we have the how,” McCoy said. “We’re still missing the ‘why the fuck did we go to a shitty motel after leaving here.’”

“Which motel?” Uhura asked.

“The Barrin Inn? I think?” Sulu said.

Christine and Uhura simultaneously raised their eyebrows. It was quite impressive.

“The Barrin Inn?” Christine asked.

“Yeah.”

“The Barrin Inn?” Uhura repeated.

“Yes!” Jim said. “Why?”

For the first time since she’d gotten here, Uhura stopped frowning. She was actually…smiling.

“Jim,” she said. “The hotel the crew is staying at is the Barrington. You idiots just got lost.”

There was a pause. A quick 10 seconds when they all looked around the table at each other. McCoy set his head slowly back down on the table.

“I hate this place.”

/////////////////

Later, when McCoy felt less inclined to quit Starfleet for the vindictive sake of never having to look at Jim, Spock, Sulu, and Scotty’s faces again, he did find humor in the situation. He forgives them all pretty easily, except for Scotty who could go die in a ditch somewhere for all that he cared.

“You don’t mean that, Bones.”

“I really do, Jim. I really do.”

“You just said you found it funny. We were laughing about it!”

“Funny in a reflective _holy shit I can’t believe we survived that_ way. Scotty did this. It is his fault we had to survive anything. He can suck a dick.”

The Barrington was actually a very nice hotel. It was everything the Barrin Inn was not. Most importantly, however, was the McCoy was looking forward to not leaving the room for the next 3 days, at least. He wanted to see and talk to no one, to stay in his pajamas, to eat terran-grown food, to sit beside Jim for hours on end; all the things he missed out on when they were on the ship.

He heard Jim snort from the bathroom.

McCoy pulled the blankets tighter, knowing damn well that as soon as Jim got into bed he was going to immediately attempt to steal them. They hadn’t bothered to eat or settle their stuff into the room. They’d made back to the hotel, thanked the assorted crew members who had manned the search party for them, and headed for bed. Jim had allowed McCoy to check him over with the tricorder. Probably because he knew that McCoy would do it as soon as Jim was asleep. Instead, he’d volunteered. It was as close to sappy couple shit as they got.

Jim shut off the lights and dropped onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

“Agreed,” McCoy said. They’d had a day full of heavy sighs.

Jim took ten full minutes to get comfortable in bed. It was one of the things McCoy had objectively known about Jim, since they’d shared an apartment, but had never experienced first-hand until they started sharing a bed. It was like Jim needed to test out every position possible before he would commit. For someone usually so annoyingly rash in making decisions, he treated going to bed like a diplomatic mission. Because he could, McCoy waited until Jim eventually settled down on his side before throwing out an arm and pulling him closer.

Jim ducked his head against McCoy’s chest.

“I’m sorry the first day of our vacation was ruined,” he said, his voice quiet and muffled.

“It’s okay. I expected nothing less, to be honest.”

“Can we do nothing tomorrow?”

“We don’t even have to leave the room,” McCoy said.

“I mean absolutely nothing,” Jim went on. “I want to stare into your eyes for 24 solid hours. You have nice eyes. I never get the chance to just look into your eyes, you know? I’m still working out the exact way to describe them and it’s always bothered me.”

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“You love it.”

“I love _you_.”

McCoy closed his eyes, so ready for his actual vacation to start. Jim suddenly tilted his head up so he could squint at McCoy in the dark.

“That’s pretty gay, Bones.”

McCoy snorted.

“We’re going to sleep now, Jim.”

Jim fidgeted under the covers, trying to get comfortable.

“I love you too,” he said, finally. “Obviously.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and pulled Jim in tighter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever written. Sue me. I just moved halfway across the country for grad school and I needed a ridiculous chapter. Obviously, this is inspired by The Hangover but I also drew a lot from the Psych episode with the same premise. Anyways, thanks for reading! More structured/better written chapters to come.


	33. Not Going to the Bathroom

Technically, McCoy and Uhura were friends.

If there was a list of things two people needed to accomplish before they could refer to the other as “my friend” in casual conversation, they would have checked them all off. Neatly and in order, because they were both overachievers like that. They’d had plenty of heart to hearts. It seemed impossible to be near someone on this ship for more than 10 minutes before both parties became overwhelmed with the need to bare their souls. They’d survived unsurvivable missions, usually because they were the ones left behind on the ship, safe. And they shared a favorite past time in common: giving Jim shit endlessly, without cause or mercy. Uhura was brutal in her bullying. She was fluent in hundreds of languages including, it seemed, insecurities because no one was better at pinpointing your deepest flaws that she was. Especially those flaws you didn’t even know you needed to be insecure about. But they were friends, so she never got to “read” him. Or, if did, she kept it to herself.

Usually.

Afterwards, it’d taken a week for him to look her in the eye again. He’d felt betrayed, armor exposed, three decades of life revaluated.

He’d been a little less than half asleep, warm from Jim’s body heat, and rubbing at his eyes with clumsy hands. He liked to get up two hours before his shift started. Jim thought he was crazy, but he needed that time to fully wake up and ready himself for the day. He liked to calmly eat breakfast, reading reports at the desk in the corner, while Jim snored on the bed. It was comforting. It was two hours he got to fully spend to himself. He lived for it.

The door the bathroom opened for him automatically as he stumbled over to it.

“Oh, Leonard. Hi.”

He blinked a couple times. The door slid shut behind him. He blinked a couple more times. Uhura was leaning against the sink, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt with the words “Kansas City Slew Rollers” across the front.

He tensed.

“Um. Nyota,” he greeted. He looked down at himself as calmly as he could.

“Oh thank God,” he sighed. He was wearing boxers. Uhura laughed.

“Nice shirt,” he snapped back. Uhura looked down at the neon shirt.

“Oh thanks. Spock let’s me wear it whenever I sleep over and it—”

McCoy threw his hands up over his ears. “ _Stop stop stop_ , I don’t want to hear a goddamn word about you—you and Spock and your—whatever. Not at 0500.”

Uhura rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror.

McCoy stood awkwardly in the door, folding his arms to cover himself as best he could. He didn’t like the idea that while he was sleeping over at Jim’s, Spock and Uhura were on the other side of the wall… _sharing t shirts_. He didn’t like the implication that Uhura and Spock’s relationship had anything in common with him and Jim’s. The fact that only a wall separated them was something he had purposefully repressed. It helped that, in the months he’d been staying primarily over in Jim’s quarters, this had never happened. He’d never walked in on Uhura or Spock. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like different. But he couldn’t back down now. Uhura would never let him forget that she’d so thoroughly shaken him.

He waited 30 more seconds before finally moving beside Uhura. He pulled his toothbrush from the top drawer.

“Ohhh, a toothbrush. You guys are getting pretty serious.”

McCoy glared at her reflection, brushing with purpose.

“Ah, young love,” she just crooned back, combing her hair back tightly.

_“I’m very uncomfortable right now, just so you know.”_

“I know. It’s very sweet, Leonard.”

McCoy spit into the sink and refused to say anything back. He could do this. 30 more seconds of brushing his teeth and he could leave, escaping from this moment forever.  

“It’s weird that you’re so quiet in the morning,” Uhura said, finishing her ponytail with a twist. McCoy slammed his toothbrush back into the drawer and raised an eyebrow. Uhura turned, leaning against the sink.

“Seeing as you were so loud last night.”

McCoy’s brain completely shut down for a full second. Distantly, he felt the tooth brush drop from his hand. He blinked and suddenly was halfway out the door, Uhura’s laugh trailing after him.

His uniform pants were thrown across the desk, along with his left sock. He shoved both of them on and kicked the chair out of his way.

“Bones?” Jim popped his head out from under the blankets. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting ready in Medbay,” McCoy growled, pulling his uniform on roughly.

“Oh,” Jim said, rubbing his face. “Are you going to come up to the bridge today? We’re passing by the—”

“ _No_.”

“What? Why?”

“Ask Uhura,” McCoy snapped, just as he made it out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Not Loud. 
> 
> So heyyyyyyyyyy. It's been awhile and I'm sorry about that. I'm finishing up my master's degree and gave that top priority over any other writing/having any fun at all. But I'm in the home stretch now and have some free time. This is just a mini chapter I wrote up just to get me back in the swing of things.


	34. Not Having a Bad Day

“Bones!”

 

_One, two, three._

 

He could hear Jim yelling.

 

_Four, five, six._

 

“We have to leave!”

 

_Seven, eight, nine._

 

He could feel the heat from the fire behind him, hitting the back of his neck.

 

_Ten, eleven, twelve._

 

“Hendorf, take Sulu and get back to the ship. ”

 

_Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen._

 

Time was alternating, shifting in between frames. When he looked down at Holbach, it was too slow. It was black and white and narrowed. He could only see his hands pushing down harder and harder on her chest. The blood was gray. The burns were black. His hands were white.

 

_Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen._

 

“Bones, you have to move!”

 

_Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one._

 

When he looked down the field, time was too fast. He couldn’t focus on the details; too many, too much. He knew Jim was there, hidden under a piece of the shuttle and firing off shots to keep the Klingons from advancing any further. There had been a team with him. With them, somewhere. Probably scattered around the field, taking cover under anything they could find. Except for the few who were with McCoy _;_ the dead and dying.

Frett was dead. Zhao was dead. Kehoe’s arm was gone, cut clean during the explosion. But he was breathing and had a pulse. So McCoy had tied it off the best he could and went back to work on Holbach, whose chest was torn open with a piece of the shuttle.

 

“Come on,” McCoy whispered. “Come one, Holbach.”

 

_Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four._

 

“Bones, get out of there NOW.”

 

“I can’t!” McCoy finally yelled back. “Holbach and Kehoe are down.”

 

_Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven._

 

“Scotty’s going to beam us back, you have to get over here!”

 

“Not without them!”

 

_Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty._

 

He looked over to Jim, bringing his point home before he stopped compressions in order to give Holbach a breath. Jim’s eyes were wide.

 

“Bones, I’m sorry.”

_One, two, three._

 

“I’m not leaving them here!” McCoy yelled, wiping sweat on the shoulder of his uniform. “I can save them.”

 

Jim took one last shot before sprinting across the field, pulling out his communicator in the same move. He slid to a halt in the dirt next to McCoy.

 

“Bones, stop.”

 

He grabbed McCoy’s arm.

 

“No, Jim!” McCoy yelled, starting compressions again.

 

Jim put his hands over McCoy’s on Holbach’s chest, stopping his movement.

 

“Bones, she’s dead. We have to go now.”

 

McCoy knocked Jim’s hands away. “No, I—I can do this.”

 

Jim flipped open the communicator. “ _Scotty_ …”

 

“No,” McCoy yelled, voice cracking. “Not yet.”

 

“… _two to beam up_.”

 

Jim closed the communicator.

 

“Jim, no!”

 

He grabbed McCoy’s hands again. Pulling them to his own chest until he could wrap his arms around McCoy’s shaking shoulders.

 

“Bones, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I can—”

 

He blinked and his senses went out. He couldn’t feel the heat or smell the fire, he couldn’t feel the dirt underneath his knees, the blood on his hands. He just felt Jim holding on to him. He blinked again and he was on the transport pad.

 

He pushed away from Jim.

 

“Send me back!” he yelled, looking from Jim to Scotty.

 

“Bones, they’re gone.”

 

“No,” McCoy said, trying to push past Jim to get to the transport controls. “Not yet. They just need more time.”

 

“Bones—”

 

McCoy put more force into his shove.

 

“Send me back.”

 

Jim just held onto his arms tighter. “Bones, stop.”

 

McCoy was panicking now, putting everything he had into getting out of Jim’s grip. He locked eyes with Scotty across the room.

 

“Scotty, please. They have a chance.”

 

“Their life signs were gone, Leonard,” Scotty said quietly.

 

“That’s bullshit! That doesn’t mean anything! I just need more time.”

 

He struggled against Jim’s arms wrapping around him.

 

“Let me save them!” he yelled.

 

“Leonard.”

 

McCoy gave one final push and Jim stumbled back. He was smart enough not to reach for McCoy again.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

McCoy was breathing roughly. He could feel every pair of eyes in the room on him.

 

“Let me go back,” he said to them.

 

“No.”

 

And that wasn’t Jim’s voice. That was Captain Kirk’s, giving an order to his CMO. An inarguable order. In an instant, it was gone.

 

“Bones,” he whispered, taking a step forward. “Bones, you’re bleeding.”

 

But it didn’t work like that. Not for McCoy. Jim couldn’t go from Captain back to concerned lover that quickly. When Jim did try to reach for him again, McCoy took a step back.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, pulling his arm back.

 

Jim had the decency to flinch at the words. He looked up at McCoy, eyes wide, and open his mouth to say something.

 

“Don’t,” McCoy repeated.

 

And walked out the door.

 

He knew he’d made his point. Jim wouldn’t follow him. Hopefully no one would. He didn’t want to see anyone, have anyone see him. He had no idea where to go.  His hands were still shaking and he could barely get one foot in front of the other. He just needed…

 

Time.

 

He made into a room before his knees gave out; an empty lab the medical officers used occasionally. It was as close as he could stomach getting near Medbay. He gripped the edge of the nearest metal table as hard as he could, keeping himself upright. The wide, empty layout of the room echoed his own heavy wheezes back at him. He slammed his palms on the edge of the table. Once, twice, three times just to see if he could even feel the force. It was his go-to way of self-diagnosing how bad the next part was going to be.

 

And when he couldn’t feel anything, he slid down to the floor, letting his head drop between his knees. No no no no no.

 

The thing that a lot of people failed to grasp is that no matter how many times you have a panic attack, it never gets any easier. It’s not a skill to hone or something you could make bearable with enough resilience. Like a recurring nightmare; a familiar path through a place you’ve never been. And, unlike most other aspects of his life, being a doctor didn’t help. If anything, it made it worse. Rationally, he knew his lungs were getting oxygen, knew his heart wasn’t going to stop and if even if they were, he’d be able to cure it. But that didn’t stop his brain from shorting out with the raw panic.

 

_Frett._

_Zhao._

_Kehoe._

_Holbach._

 

The first time he’d lost a patient, he’d been an intern in Atlanta. Interns weren’t really supposed to be handling patients on their own. Especially not serious ones. But they didn’t know it was serious. He didn’t know. He thought it was the flu. Your average, everyday human flu. A simple fix with a hypo. But it wasn’t the flu and it wasn’t a simple fix. It wasn’t even human. It was from a planet he’d never even heard of, brought in by a race he’d never seen. That was his first time realizing how dangerous space could be. Forget about dying of a shuttle accident or on a starship. Picking up an alien pathogen the human immune system wasn’t equipped to handle was what was going to kill you.

 

He’d stopped underestimating the final frontier after that.

 

That had been a mistake, though. An error he, as an intern, was almost expected to make. Interns lost patients. It was shitty but part of the learning experience. It was just a mistake anyone could have made. This time wasn’t a mistake. He was doing everything right by the book—a book that he himself had written about what it took to be a doctor on the _Enterprise_. But he still failed. And felt just the same level of helpless panic he’d had when he was 24. Only it wasn’t one patient in Atlanta. It was four on a deserted planet, in the middle of a fire fight.

 

_Frett._

_Zhao._

_Kehoe._

_Holbach._

 

McCoy gripped his knees tighter.

 

When he was 26, he’d killed his father. Because he’d asked him to—because he was sick and there wasn’t a cure. He killed him because he was a good son. That’s what he told himself, anyway. That’s what his father had said, what his mother still said. What a lot of people had been saying to him the last 10 years, even though he knew they didn’t believe it. At the time, it wasn’t a mistake. Two months later, when they found the cure, he still couldn’t quite call it a mistake.  It was just a decision he’d made that turned out wrong. A bad call. Just like they all had made volunteering for to help on this mission. Kehoe shouldn’t have been there. He was a biologist. He should have been in one of the research offices on ship. Frett should have been in the lab she shared with Sulu—the secret botany lab they ran experiments out of when no one was looking. He didn’t even know where Sulu was. He’d been on the other shuttle with Jim. Zhao should have been running tactical from deck 6. And Holbach should have been safe and sound in Medbay.

 

He was breathing in and out, in and out. In. Out. But it wasn’t quite working right. He was too shaky and it rattled too much in his chest. He couldn’t open his eyes because there was too much blood on his shirt for him to look at. It would come out in the wash, he knew. It always did. The colors of blood found in the veins of the people working on the _Enterprise_ was a wide and beautiful spectrum. They’d yet to discover one that couldn’t disappear in one cycle of the wash. Still, there were other ways to ruin a shirt.

 

He pulled on the already ripped collar and tugged off the blue shirt, throwing it in the corner of the lab, away from him. In and out. In and out. The silence of the lab was punctuated by his own breathing and then, eventually, footsteps. Getting closer and closer as they came down the hall.

 

The door slid open.

 

McCoy kept his head hanging, his hands gripping the back of his own neck.

 

“Please, Jim. Just give—give me a minute,” he managed between the hitches in his breathing.

 

The footsteps stopped beside him.

 

“He’s worried about you, Leonard.”

 

McCoy looked up. Christine was leaning against the wall, staring down at him with a deep frown.

 

“I’m fi—fine,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

 

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

 

They looked at each other for a second before Christine slid down the wall to sit beside him, yet still far enough away that they weren’t touching. McCoy dropped his head back between his knees.

 

Just…breathing.

 

It was smart move on Jim’s part, sending Christine. He must have known that McCoy would be more willing to accept Christine’s company than anyone else’s. She would get it. She always did. She would understand that he wasn’t mad at Jim. Hell, that he wasn’t even mad at himself. He was just tired. She knew that, better than anyone else on the ship. Sometimes they had very, very shitty days. It’d been awhile since the last one. An explosion in engineering that took out two lieutenants and an ensign. McCoy didn’t remember their names. They were engineering. He never had a reason to know them more than doing their check-ups, fixing the odd burn or broken finger. But they’d been gone before McCoy had even gotten there. They never had a chance. But Kehoe did. And Frett. And Zhao.

 

And Holbach.

 

Eventually he said:

 

“Holbach switched seats with me.”

 

Christine looked up at him. He lifted his head up and leaned against the wall behind them.

 

“We were getting ready for takeoff. I was sitting in the seat I was assigned. A...a window seat. And she knew I didn’t like flying. So she switched with me. Gave me the aisle seat.”

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“Then we took off. And we were laughing at some joke Kehoe had made. He’d asked Zhao what she’d done to get stuck on blue shirt babysitting duty. And the thing was…she’d volunteered. All of them did. They all chose to be there. Except for me. I was only there because Jim nagged and nagged and nagged the last three days. I should be dead.”

 

“Leonard—”

 

“I don’t mean in an ‘I deserved to die’ guilt bullshit way. I mean literally I should be fucking dead. That shuttle got blasted out of the damn sky, Christine. If I hadn’t taken Holbach’s seat. If…”

 

“—if the Klingons hadn’t been waiting for you, if they hadn’t set a trap, if they had hit the other shuttle instead,” Christine finished for him. “Those are the ifs you have to think about. There was nothing you or anyone on the ship could have done. It sure sounds like you’re doing the guilt bullshit.”

 

McCoy shook his head.

 

“You couldn’t save them all, Leonard.”

 

“It’s not that I couldn’t save everyone,” McCoy said quietly. “It’s that I couldn’t save anyone.”

 

The silence from Christine confirmed his earlier assessment. She understood. He didn’t need to go into any more detail. He didn’t need to tell her that yes, he knew there were dead. Of course he knew. Frett and Zhao didn’t even make it to the ground with the shuttle. He’d had no way of stopping Kehoe from bleeding out on that fucking field. But he couldn’t give up on Holbach. He just couldn’t. She’d taken his seat and gotten a chest full of shrapnel for her trouble. He closed his eyes with a sharp breath, trying to stop the images and panic from flooding over his senses again.

 

“Do you remember our first day on the Enterprise?”

 

Uh just a little, he wanted to say. It’s hard to forget pronouncing your boss dead within an hour of shaking his hand for the first time. The rest of the day did become a little bit of a blur after that. There were times when his anxiety did actually come in handy. He powered through that first 24 hours running on sheer panic-induced adrenaline. He couldn’t think beyond the confines of the Medbay, beyond the specific patient he was seeing, the most pressing injury, what needed fixing immediately.

 

Instead of saying any of that, he just nodded.

 

“That was my first day in space.”

 

When he looked up, Christine was starring across the empty room, her eyes unfocused.

 

“Real, honest-to-fuck space,” she said. “I never expected to be on a Starship, let alone in battle. I was going into research.”

 

McCoy snorted. He couldn’t honestly imagine a bigger waste of talent than Christine being stuck in some lab.

 

“I know,” she said. “But it was the plan. I wasn’t cut out for this. That’s all I could think about after Moretto got sucked out of Deck 6. When I got the world’s most undeserved promotion. I thought it every time another person came stumbling through the doors missing limbs or coughing up blood. _I can’t do this_ , I said. _I can’t do this. I can’t do this._ ”

 

McCoy had a similar thought process during that 36-hour period. Except his was more _we should have all been dead already. We should have all been dead already._ With the occasional _if Jim doesn’t die I’ll kill him myself_.

 

“So what changed your mind?” McCoy asked.

 

“I saw you throwing up in one of the labs.”

 

McCoy’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

 

Christine give him a side-eyed look and smirked. “It was later—after everything. We did Pike’s surgery and as soon as he was out the woods, you went straight from the operating suite to the lab and threw up. Repeatedly.”

 

Before McCoy could even open his mouth, she went on.

 

“Because that meant you weren’t handling it as well as everyone thought. Leonard, I was so fucking in awe of you. We all were. I saw you hold together that kid that was nearly cut in half—what’s his name? He still works here—”

 

“Ensign Caldera.”

 

“Yes! Caldera. You were literally elbow deep in his chest cavity and you didn’t even hesitate! You took over an understaffed, understocked Medbay in the middle of a crisis. I thought to myself that’s the guy Starfleet needs up here. Not me. And then you threw up. And you know what?”

 

“I was crying as well? Christine, I don’t like this story…”

 

“You weren’t crying! You were human.”

 

Christine ran her hand through her hair, leaning forward in excitement like she sometimes did when she was telling a story or working in the lab.

 

“When we met, I thought you were going to be another typical Starfleet doctor. I’ve seen hundreds and they were all the same. They were cocky and rude and so fucking removed from their own emotions that they couldn’t even talk to patients for more than 2 minutes. And then you turned around and threw up when you thought no one was looking. Because you are so extraordinarily human. It’s what kept this Medbay going that day. And it’s what keeps this ship going now. Your giant fucking heart you keep permanently attached to your sleeve.”

 

McCoy didn’t say anything.

 

“That day,” Christine said, again looking across the room as if she could see the memory. See the Medbay filled with too many patients and too little doctors. “You saved so many lives. That…that was a good day. And that wasn’t a one-time thing, either. We are the outlier that screws up the rest of the fleet’s statistics. We have so many good days on this ship, Leonard. Because of you.”

 

“Because of us.”

 

“But mostly you,” Christine elbowed him lightly. “Everyone knows you’re the best damn doctor in the galaxy. Except for you, apparently. It’s the thing that annoys me most about you, you know. Jim too. We talk about it a lot.”

 

McCoy narrowed his eyes. “You do not.”

 

Christine nodded enthusiastically. “Jim and I talk more than you realize. And your insecurities happen to be our favorite topic of conversation. That and your well-being.”

 

“Honestly, Leonard,” she said, seeing McCoy was about to protest. “It’s a two-person job. Making sure you aren’t overworked or underfed or throwing up in labs.”

 

“Or having panic attacks in them,” he added for her.

 

“Oh were you having a panic attack? I hadn’t noticed. You were hiding it so well.”

 

She nudged him again with a small smile.

 

“We like to think that you’re finally getting that no matter what you do, we aren’t going to let you go through bad days alone. This was just a bad day, Leonard. I know what Holbach meant to you. What they all meant to you. And we’re going to get through this, together.”

 

She grabbed on tight to his arm.

 

“Okay?”

 

He thought about the millions of responses he could give to that. Thought about how he could probably sit here in the lab for another 2 hours and still not feel any better. And then he thought about the genuine way Christine seemed to hold on to him. Her words. Her conspiring with Jim.

 

And then he thought about Jim.

 

Jim, who had done the best he could down there. Who was probably just as broken over the deaths as McCoy was. Jim, who was probably pretty damn worried about him right now.

 

“Not okay,” he said. “But we’ll work on it.”

 

Together. Him and Jim. As always, they could be fucked up together. Christine too, for that matter.

 

Christine clapped her hands together. “Well then great, my job here is done.”

 

McCoy chuckled.

 

“I’m pretty sure Starfleet doesn’t pay you for being a mother hen.”

 

“No, but Jim does. Why do you think the cafeteria brought back pecan pie?”

 

“Jim made them bring it back for me,” McCoy raised an eyebrow.

 

“Jim made them bring it back _for me_. In gratitude for taking care of you.”

 

“No, because he loves me and I love pecan pie.”

 

“No, because I love you both and I love pecan pie more.”

 

They stared at one another for a moment before laughing.

 

“Remind me to ask Jim about that later,” McCoy said, smiling. He sighed and wiped at the sweat, dirt, and tears mixture on his face. He frowned when his hand came back bloody.

 

“Am I…bleeding?”

 

Christine nodded, tipping his face towards here and scanning it with a frown. “Yep. I thought we’d figure out your mental health before we worried about it.”

 

“Oh.”

 

She stood, reaching down and helping him shakily to his feet, smacking his hand roughly away when he attempted to reach up and poke at the wound again.

 

“Is everyone else okay?” he asked.

 

“Bumps and bruises,” Christine assured him, putting a steadying hand on his bicep. “Jim is completely unhurt.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

 “Hand to God, Leonard.”

 

“That’s astounding.”

 

“I know. Mark the calendar.”

 

McCoy laughed as they walked out of the lab, leaving his shirt behind. Christine kept him steady.

 

“Thanks, Christine,” he eventually said. Quietly, hoping she might get the hint and not address it.

 

“Hmmm what was that, Leonard?”

 

But of course not.

 

“I said thanks,” he said. “For helping me.”

 

She squeezed his arm. “Always.”

 

They made it the short distance to medbay. It was, as Christine promised, empty aside from a couple nurses and Dr. Toll in the corner. He managed to give a tight nod in his direction as Christine sat him down onto the nearest bed.

 

“Here,” she said, handing him gauze. She directed his hand to his left temple. He hissed.

 

“Ow.”

 

“Welcome to your post-adrenaline crash,” Christine smirked.

 

“You don’t have to sound so happy about, Chapel.”

 

“I like when you’re the patient.”

 

“You just like it when you’re in charge.”

 

Christine pulled over a tray from the wall. “I’m not in charge. Dr. Toll is here.”

 

McCoy raised the undamaged eyebrow. “You know damn well I trust you to save my life more than him.”

 

“It’s just a cut, Leonard,” she said, heading towards the cabinets in the back of Medbay where they kept the hypos. “I think you’ll live.”

 

“But it hurts like a son of a bitch,” he said. But Christine couldn’t hear him. What was the point of complaining then? He pressed the gauze more firmly against his head, closing his eyes. He breathed out. Then breathed in.

 

He looked up when the doors to Medbay slid open.

 

Jim walked in, coming to a stop in the doorway as soon as he saw McCoy. He didn’t say anything and neither did McCoy. It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything to talk about. There was so much McCoy wanted to say. A million thoughts that he needed to verbalize in order to process them fully, make them real. But he didn’t quite know how.

 

Jim cut his thinking short by walking towards him. Slow and deliberate, like he was giving McCoy time to back out if he so wanted. He stopped as he hit McCoy’s knees hanging off the edge of the biobed. But when McCoy tried to give a reassuring smile Jim didn’t hesitate. He reached out and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling McCoy to his chest.

 

McCoy sighed, leaning in as he closed his eyes.

 

_It was just a bad day._


End file.
